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1M71  IJJITI  1 


By  STANTON  DAVIS  KIRKHAM 


RESOURCES 

An  Interpretation  of  the  Well-Rounded  Life. 
New  York  :    G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons. 

MEXICAN  TRAILS 

A  Record  of  Travel  in  Mexico,  1904-1907,  and 
a  Glimpse  at  the  Life  of  the  Mexican  Indian. 
New  York:  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons  .         .     $1.75 

THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  SELF-HELP 

An  Application  of  Practical  Psychology  to  Daily 

Life. 

New  York  :  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons   .         .     $1.25 

THE  MINISTRY  OF  BEAUTY 

Philosophical  Essays. 

New  York  &  San  Francisco : 

Paul  Elder  &  Co $1.50 

WHERE  DWELLS  THE  SOUL  SERENE 

Philosophical  Essays. 

New  York  &  San  Francisco  : 

Paul  Elder  &  Co $1.50 

IN  THE  OPEN 

Intimate  Studies  and  Appreciations  of  Nature. 
Frontispiece  in  Color  after  painting  by  Fuertes. 
Illustrated  with  original  Nature  Photographs. 
New  York  &  San  Francisco  : 
Paul  Elder  &  Co $1.75 


Resources 

An  Interpretation 
of  the  Well-Rounded  Life 


By 

Stanton   Davis   Kirkham 

Author  of  "The  Philosophy  of  Self-Help,"  " The  Ministry  of 
Beauty,"  "Where  Dwells  the  Soul  Serene,"  etc. 

1&  3?V 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New    York  and    London 

Zbe  •fcntcfcerbochei:  press 

1910 


Copyright,  igio 

BY 

STANTON  DAVIS  KIRKHAM 


Ube  Imicfcerbocfter  press,  Hew  JSorfc 


ri 


M 


ST 
\S<*\ 


PREFACE 

IN  the  present  race  for  money,  the  virtue  of 
quiet  and  contemplative  hours  is  apt  to 
be  lost  sight  of:  indeed,  the  specious  idea  is 
gaining  ground  that  money  is  the  only  re- 
source. It  suffices  to  intimate  in  this  con- 
nection that  we  can  buy  neither  health  nor 
happiness;  and  as  for  substitutes  for  these,  a 
few  will  answer  as  well  as  a  great  many. 

Intellectual  and  spiritual  resources,  how- 
ever, condition  happiness,  inasmuch  as  they 
make  for  a  well-rounded  life.  The  fact  is 
worthy  of  emphasis  that  they  are  acquired 
only  in  the  plastic  years  of  the  mind.  It  is 
then  we  foster  the  love  of  nature,  of  books,  of 
music,  and  with  it  fashion  a  brain  which  shall 
serve  our  purpose.  Age  acquires  no  assets  of 
this  kind,  and  if  it  has  laid  up  no  treasure  in 
its  youth,  must  presently  find  itself  bank- 
rupt. While  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  sound  a 
warning  against  a  possible  spiritual  and  in- 
tellectual bankruptcy,  it  is  surely  more  to  the 
point   to   encourage   the   cultivation   of   the 

iii 


iv  Preface 

mind's  estate,  that  no  such  Nemesis  may 
overtake  us. 

That  which  we  derive  from  our  resources 
will  depend  always  upon  what  we  are.  It  is 
ever  a  coefficient  of  character,  and  further- 
more, a  matter  of  perception,  of  a  delicate  as 
well  as  a  disciplined  response  of  the  inner  to 
the  outer — an  ear  for  music,  an  eye  for  nature, 
a  feeling  for  books  and  for  solitude,  a  love  for 
people. 

No  true  resource  is  superficial,  for  it  must 
spring  from  a  love  sufficient  to  animate  the 
will.  It  is  real,  not  an  affectation,  and  here 
is  the  difference  between  resources  and  fads. 
If  it  be  reading,  it  is  not  to  take  the  place  of 
thought  but  to  stimulate  us  to  think  for  our- 
selves; if  travel,  we  are  to  journey  out  of 
ourselves,  to  arrive  at  something  foreign  to 
the  narrow  world  we  call  our  own,  the  meagre 
idea  we  know  as  self ;  if  nature,  the  mountains 
must  yield  mountain  thoughts  as  well  as  air, 
the  woods  something  of  more  value  than 
lumber,  even  companionship;  society  must 
afford  sincere  relations  with  men  and  women, 
and  that  rarest  of  stimulants — conversation; 
while  solitude  must  be,  not  isolation,  but  an 
inner  joy  and  peace. 

Society  is  haunted  with  ghosts — men  who 


Preface  v 

have  died  to  the  spiritual  life,  men  who  have 
died  to  the  intellectual  life,  and  whose  physical 
apparitions  are  left  to  monopolise  the  world. 
The  rich  are  popularly  supposed  to  be  they 
who  have  money — commonly  men  of  one 
resource  only;  whereas  true  wealth  consists 
in  the  number  and  variety  of  our  resources 
and  the  extent  of  their  cultivation.  He  is 
blessed  who  has  found  his  vocation;  but  twice 
blessed  is  he  who  has  discovered,  in  addition, 
his  avocation.  Not  only  does  age  approach 
him  slowly,  but  while  he  lives,  he  has  life 
more  abundantly. 

S.  D.  K. 


CONTENTS 


I.  Intellect 

II.  Spirit 

III.  Love 

IV.  Wisdom    . 
V.  Thinking 

VI.  Will 

VII.  Society    . 

VIII.  Solitude 

IX.  Nature    . 

X.  Travel    . 

XL  Reading  . 

XII.  Music 

XIII.  Money      . 

XIV.  Vocation 


PAGE 
I 

IS 

29 

41 

54 
69 

79 

95 
107 
121 

137 
154 
169 

188 


Vll 


viii  Contents 


PAGE 


XV.     Play 202 

XVI.     Hobbies  ......     213 

XVII.     Home 225 


'  Remember  also  thy  Creator  in  the  days  of  thy  youth ; 
Or  ever  the  evil  days  come, 
And  the  years  draw  nigh, 
When  thou  shalt  say,  I  have  no  pleasure  in  them." 


IX 


Resources 

V 

J-  6?  ~b   1  V 

CHAPTER  I 
INTELLECT 

IN  a  consideration  of  resources,  it  is  fitting 
we  should  first  regard  the  mind  itself, 
the  ground  of  all  resources ;  and,  furthermore, 
the  all-embracing  Spirit,  which,  while  it  can- 
not be  directly  perceived,  makes  itself  known 
through  us,  and  of  which  men  in  their  divine 
moments  receive  those  august  intimations,  the 
inspiration  of  their  noblest  thoughts. 

The  secret  of  any  real  life  is  to  live  from 
within,  that  truth  and  beauty  may  rise  from 
the  underlying  source  and  so  refresh  the  sur- 
face, the  superficial  and  outer  man,  that  he 
appear,  not  a  desert  of  commonplace  thought, 
but  rather  a  garden — a  wild  garden  per- 
chance— such  as  may  thrive  and  bloom 
about    perennial    springs,    where    wandering 


2  Resources 

seeds  blown  by  the  winds  of  heaven  take 
root  and  bring  forth  after  their  kind. 

In  man  is  a  well-spring  of  truth  if  he  will 
but  dig.  Let  him,  then,  not  sit  upon  the 
desert  sighing  for  rain;  for  truth  comes  from 
within.  In  him,  far  below  all  stratified  be- 
liefs and  mountains  of  trivial  thought,  run 
and  sparkle  the  immortal  waters  of  life, 
which  are  one  the  world  over,  rising  to  the 
surface  through  cracks  and  fissures  in  the 
overlying  strata. 

The  virtue  of  this  inner  life  is  not  its  own 
but  is  of  the  Spirit.  Great  is  the  Soul;  with- 
out beginning  or  end.  Intellect  is  not  identi- 
cal with  it,  but  is  an  instrument  the  Soul 
uses  by  which  the  august  Knower,  sitting 
veiled  within,  makes  himself  known.  The 
Soul  is  not  what  we  see,  but  the  light  by 
which  we  see;  not  what  we  think,  but  that 
in  virtue  of  which  we  are  able  to  think;  not 
that  which  we  know,  but  that  Unknown  by 
whose  mysterious  power  we  know  anything. 
It  invests  itself  as  a  means,  with  the  mind, 
whose  superior  faculties  we  name  intellect. 

Our  resources  depend  on  the  manner  and 
extent  of  our  cultivation.  Many  gardens 
which  seem  fair  enough,  being  watered  by 
no  spring,  have  but  a  tentative  and  precari- 


Intellect  3 

ous  life.  Graces  of  the  intellect  should  rise 
from  sound  roots  in  good  soil  and  not  re- 
semble those  forced  and  artificial  creations  of 
the  horticulturist,  which  are  for  display  only 
and  fail  to  perform  the  natural  functions  of 
the  flower,  harbouring  no  nectar  and  inviting 
no  bees.  Only  that  truly  adorns  which  is 
real  and  has  use.  That  alone  is  a  resource 
into  which  we  have  put  somewhat  of  our- 
selves; while  that  which  is  cultivated  from 
display  merely  yields  no  better  returns  than 
flattery  and  cheap  praise. 

Mankind  is  in  pursuit  of  a  state  of  mind, 
and  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  no  more  than 
a  serene  point  of  view,  a  mind  in  harmony 
with  the  spiritual  facts,  suffused  with  the 
glory  of  the  Soul.  To  what  end,  then,  should 
we  run  to  and  fro  or  walk  up  and  down  the 
earth,  save  to  invite  the  Spirit?  Knowledge 
is  not  wisdom  and  it  is  by  wisdom  we  truly 
live,  by  wisdom  attain  peace.  And  the 
highest  use  of  the  intellect  is  to  so  classify 
facts  and  experience,  so  cultivate  the  sense 
of  proportion,  that  consciousness  is  prepared 
for  the  advent  of  truth,  as  a  palace  for  the 
reception  of  a  king. 

One  in  substance,  the  intellect  is  protean 
in  form,  and  every  age  is  but  a  new  mould 


4  Resources 

which  holds  it  for  an  hour.  An  age  of  twaddle 
succeeds  an  age  of  cant,  and  only  the  wise 
observe  the  signs  of  the  times.  The  pro- 
tean intellect  now  fashions  for  itself  a  renais- 
sance, anon  a  commercial  era.  The  flowing 
tide  submerges  every  pool  and  men  become 
suddenly  invested  with  the  thought  and 
belief  of  the  day,  imagining  it  to  be  their  own. 

Relieved  of  the  pressure  of  ecclesiastical 
and  traditional  bonds,  the  world-thought 
now  expands  with  liberal  and  democratic 
spirit.  A  little  knowledge  admits  any  man 
to  the  wonders  of  science.  He  reads  under- 
standingly  of  discoveries  in  astronomy  and 
geology,  of  advances  in  chemical  and  physical 
research.  Wherever  a  new  channel  is  dis- 
covered he  enters,  for  truth  is  common 
property.  Scholars  are  the  master  marines; 
but  who  owns  the  sea  and  what  are  its  bounds  ? 

Not  less  marvellous  seem  the  achievements 
of  the  human  mind  in  being  the  results  of 
a  reaction  which  is  cosmic.  That  savants 
should  accurately  determine  the  constitution 
of  the  distant  sun,  weigh  the  stars,  and  from 
a  bone  describe  an  animal  that  perished 
before  man  appeared  on  the  earth,  is  indeed 
wonderful.  But  quite  as  astonishing  is  the 
fact  that  the  majority  of  reading  men  can 


Intellect  5 

follow  them,  appreciating  in  some  degree  the 
results  of  their  investigations. 

The  cosmopolitan  intellect  is  at  home  in  all 
lands,  in  all  times.  Infinite  are  its  modes, 
and  every  accession  of  knowledge  but  a 
larger  acquaintance  with  ourselves.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  world  live  scholars  who 
appear  to  think  backward,  even  as  they 
write,  so  different  from  ours  is  their  point  of 
view.  That  civilisation,  proceeding  with  our 
own,  yet  so  diverges  by  reason  of  its  social 
and  philosophic  traditions  as  to  be  ruled  by 
the  dead  rather  than  by  the  living,  and  finds 
such  rule  moral  and  efficient.  Its  scholars 
negate  what  we  cherish  as  the  ego,  regarding 
the  personality  as  no  more  than  an  aggre- 
gate, the  mind  a  composite.  The  literature, 
the  ideals  of  a  whole  people,  are  conse- 
quently influenced  more  by  the  idea  of  pre- 
existence,  than  by  any  hope  of  immortality. 

Not  the  least  charm  of  the  intellectual 
life  is  this  diversity  of  landscape,  these  re- 
mote vistas,  so  unlike,  opened  to  us  through 
the  world  of  books.  A  new  language  affords 
a  larger  comprehension  as  well  as  a  different 
view  of  the  same  world.  It  is  another  light, 
soft  and  pleasing,  or  hard  and  clear,  in  which 
to  view  the  masquerade  of  society;  further- 


6  Resources 

more,  we  may  at  will  turn  that  light  back 
upon  the  centuries,  letting  it  fall  upon  such 
times  and  places  as  we  choose. 

Foreign  to  our  sturdy  English  is  that 
subtlety  and  delicacy  of  thought,  that  pre- 
cision of  expression  and  capacity  for  finer 
shades  of  meaning  which  is  the  charm  of 
French.  There  is  again  a  charm  as  dis- 
tinctly Italian  or  Spanish,  and  whoever  is 
able  to  think  in  these  idioms  avails  himself 
of  this  to  see  the  world  as  with  another  pair 
of  eyes.  German,  eminently  the  language  of 
philosophy,  does  not  readily  yield  to  trans- 
lation its  compact  and  comprehensive  terms. 
We  are  told  this  is  equally  true  of  the  classic 
Sanskrit  which  comprehends  in  single  philo- 
sophic terms,  as  in  atman,  purusha,  avidya, 
maya,  and  the  mystical  aum,  that  which 
requires  whole  paragraphs  of  explanatory 
English.  Each  of  these  words  might  be  the 
subject  of  a  philosophical  treatise.  Transla- 
tions admit  us  to  a  distant  view  of  the  past 
and  its  modes  of  thought;  and  to  know  the 
world  truly  is  to  know  its  youth  as  well  as 
its  maturity.  Doubtless  English  is,  all  in  all, 
the  most  satisfactory,  for  it  is  most  com- 
prehensive in  that  it  is  such  a  generous 
borrower  both  from  the  dead  and  the  living. 


Intellect  7 

Thus  a  little  knowledge  admits  us  to  the 
best  society  in  every  age.  We  listen  to  the 
conversation  of  wits  and  courtiers ;  we  hobnob 
with  archaeologists,  geologists,  and  philolo- 
gists; muse  with  philosophers  and  dream 
with  poets.  Where  there  is  interest,  there 
will  the  attention  be  held,  and  understanding 
and  appreciation  follow.  Hence  the  value  of 
cultivating  interests  while  the  mind  is  still 
plastic,  for  they  become  resources;  and  in 
proportion  to  the  number  of  these,  is  life 
enriched  to  the  possessor  and  the  more  worth 
living.  Who  does  not  know  those  sorry  old 
men  who,  through  absorption  in  affairs,  have 
allowed  the  fertile  fields  to  lie  fallow,  until 
too  late,  the  barren  intellect  yields  no  har- 
vest! You  know  nothing  of  music,  you  say; 
nothing  of  art,  of  nature!  These  things 
were  your  birthright  and  you  have  renounced 
them;  they  have  knocked  at  your  door  and 
you  would  not  open.  Beware  then  the  Ne- 
mesis of  old  age.  First  come  the  Graces,  and 
if  we  will  not  heed,  presently  they  depart  and 
then  appear  the  Furies  and  abide  with  us  unto 
the  end.  It  is  we  invite  and  we  forbid.  He 
is  poor  in  spirit  who  has  not  some  time  in 
his  life  heard  the  call  of  the  sea  or  of  the 
mountains,  or  felt  the  thrill  of  a  new  vision 


8  Resources 

of  truth,  a  new  perception  of  beauty.  Thus 
surges  the  tide  into  every  little  pool,  and  the 
thrill  and  ecstasy  mark  the  individual's  recog- 
nition of  the  universal. 

The  most  profitable  field  of  study,  the 
working  of  the  mind  itself,  has,  by  a  strange 
fatality,  received  the  least  attention.  To 
observe  and  consider  the  action  of  one's  own 
mind  may  surely  be  regarded  in  the  light  of  a 
resource,  so  marvellous  and  so  intricate  are 
the  mental  processes ;  but  more  than  this  it  is  a 
necessity.  We  are  else  like  stupid  chauffeurs 
who  do  not  understand  the  mechanism  of 
their  own  machines  and  hence  cannot  possi- 
bly run  them  to  the  best  advantage.  Since 
everything  we  know  or  do  is  by  reason  of 
mind,  the  better  trained  and  directed  its 
faculties,  the  less  encumbered  by  negative 
tendencies,  the  more  efficient  instrument  is 
it  in  the  apprehension  of  truth  and  the  more 
completely  does  it  enable  us  to  appropriate 
our  various  resources.  In  fact  a  rational 
practical  psychology — the  science  of  mind 
building — properly  lies  at  the  root  of  all 
studies. 

We  cannot  too  assiduously  cultivate  our 
resources,  for  as  we  sow,  anon  we  shall  reap. 
They  are  like  the  friends  of  our  youth;  in 


Intellect  9 

later  years  we  make  few  to  take  their  place. 
Round  about  us  stretch  the  woods  and  fields, 
rated  in  the  world  as  an  economic  resource, 
but  no  less  an  intellectual  and  spiritual  one. 
Shall  they  feed  the  stomach  only?  Man 
lives  by  bread  and  meat,  but  not  by  these 
alone,  surely.  Shall  he  till  the  soil  and  cul- 
tivate no  friendship  for  birds  and  flowers? 
The  forest  will  yield  solitude  or  companion- 
ship as  readily  as  it  yields  lumber.  Nature 
is  the  object  of  which  man  is  the  subject. 
What  he  has  uncovered  within  is  disclosed 
without.  A  barren  eye  sees  a  barren  world; 
but  the  eye  of  love  beholds  the  world  as 
beauty. 

We  awake  to  find  ourselves  in  a  labyrinth 
of  delusions  and  beset  with  mysteries.  The 
intellect  has  only  imaginary  limits,  like  the 
horizon,  and  describes  for  itself  new  and 
ever-widening  circles.  Great  is  its  discerning 
power,  and  in  rich  natures  it  looks  on  at  the 
beautiful  illusion  as  at  a  play,  none  the  less 
complacent  that  it  knows  it  for  an  appear- 
ance. For  the  illusion  is  itself  as  wonderful 
as  any  fact.  Overhead,  the  blue  dome  is  not 
less  beautiful  that  we  know  it  is  no  dome  at 
all;  sunrise  no  less  inspiring  when  we  con- 
sider it  is  but  another  turn  of  the  earth  on 


io  Resources 

its  axis.  He  who  has  the  sense  of  wonder  is 
still  charmed  with  the  appearance  while 
pondering  the  fact. 

But  to  mistake  appearance  for  reality  is 
to  play  a  fool's  part  and  to  go  through  life  the 
puppet  of  beliefs.  Nature's  illusions  are 
beautiful,  while  the  delusions  of  the  world 
are  folly.  Society  occupies  itself  in  petty 
deceptions  to  no  real  purpose.  It  is  perhaps 
but  cold  comfort  to  see  through  all  these 
shams  and  to  realise  the  poverty  of  life — 
where  might  be  the  substantial  wealth  of 
intellect  and  ideals.  Religious  cant,  philo- 
sophic twaddle,  social  pretence,  literary  gush 
— fad,  humbug,  and  display — what  a  game  it 
is  to  be  sure,  and  yet  a  game  of  surpassing 
interest.  Underneath  it  all  is  the  good  heart 
of  mankind,  and  a  genial  man  may  relish  it 
even  if  he  has  discovered  its  emptiness. 
They  who  have  perceived  the  sufficiency  of 
the  Soul  are  content  to  be  simple  and  straight- 
forward and  true,  and  to  pass  for  what  they 
are. 

Now  the  elements  of  culture  lie  in  this  dis- 
tinction between  fact  and  appearance  as  ap- 
plied to  conduct  and  ideals.  The  vulgar  are 
content  to  seem,  and  there  is,  if  you  please, 
an    educated    vulgarity.     Culture    does    not 


Intellect  n 

advertise  itself  and  pretends  to  nothing  it 
has  not.  Springing  from  the  heart,  it  is  the 
worship  of  beauty  and  sincerity  in  the  intel- 
lectual world.  Scorning  the  appeal  to  money, 
to  the  accidents  of  fortune,  it  may  reveal 
itself  most  in  the  use  it  makes  of  riches,  of 
position  and  power — the  supreme  test. 

A  true  culture  must  of  necessity  be  in  some 
degree  philosophic,  for  the  sense  of  propor- 
tion and  the  perception  of  values  are  so  great 
a  part  of  its  office.  What  is  worth  while? 
Let  us  play  for  high  stakes  if  we  are  to  enter 
the  game.  Sooner  or  later  it  is  discovered 
that  most  things  are  a  matter  of  opinion; 
that  men  put  on  and  off  their  opinions 
as  they  do  their  clothes,  while  beliefs,  like 
customs,  change  with  the  climate  and  are 
somewhat  a  matter  of  geography.  Men  will 
do  anything  rather  than  think,  and  laugh 
where  they  do  not  understand.  Philosophy 
sets  itself  the  task  of  winnowing  the  wheat 
from  the  chaff,  mindful  that  the  latter  is  not 
necessarily  a  waste  product,  but  must  be 
known  for  what  it  is.  This,  some  Diogenes 
in  his  tub  may  do,  but  a  cultivated  mind  can 
do  it  to  better  purpose.  While  the  daily 
papers  and  penny  magazines  see  everything  in 
the  limelight,  exaggerate,  distort,  and  falsely 


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interpret,  make  tragedies  of  vulgar  crimes 
and  offer  a  premium  for  mediocrity,  and  the 
majority  take  their  opinions  from  these,  it  is 
this  culture  which  shall  look  calmly  on  and 
manfully  declare  it  a  tempest  in  a  teapot. 
To  the  world  prostrate  before  Mammon,  it 
shall  with  serene  tolerance  proclaim  the  Soul 
whose  herald  it  is.  While  men  rush  on  in 
pursuit  of  phantoms,  it  shall  proclaim  its 
doctrine  of  true  ideals,  of  a  lasting  and 
spiritual  success ;  and  amid  the  ever- increasing 
storm  of  illusions,  stand  solidly  on  the  ground 
of  character  and  beauty,  finding  its  content- 
ment in  nature  and  the  resources  which  are 
the  heritage  of  culture  alone. 

Wherever  the  flowing  tide  of  intellect  finds 
a  fit  channel,  it  therewith  announces  itself  as 
genius,  and  we  are  led  to  believe  that  those 
so  distinguished  may  have  prepared  them- 
selves in  some  former  phase  of  existence,  that 
they  have  long  tended  in  this  direction,  and, 
the  time  being  ripe,  have  simply  and  natur- 
ally borne  fruit.  Such  men  often  resemble 
the  moon,  illuminated  on  one  side  while  the 
balance  is  veiled  in  darkness.  Like  crystals, 
they  are  not  self-effulgent  but  merely  reflect 
light,  and  that  from  certain  facets  only. 

Our  ideals    appear   ever   beyond    us   like 


Intellect  13 

remote  stars  towards  which  we  tend.  Not 
without,  they  are  in  reality  projections  from 
within.  It  may  happen  that  genius  must 
follow  a  path  which  others  do  not  see;  not 
genius  alone  but  all  who  seek  truth.  Let 
them  realise  that  they  walk  with  God  and  take 
heart.  'T  is  a  queer  world  of  hypnosis  and 
sleep-walking,  but  if  any  one  awake  he  shall 
know  that  truth  will  sustain  him  and  shall 
dare  to  be.  Men  have  been  great  because 
of  their  ideals  and  in  spite  of  their  defects. 
Like  heroic  and  martial  music,  their  faith 
and  courage  cheers  and  nerves  every  aspiring 
soul  that  essays  to  strike  out  a  path  for  itself. 
If  that  path  be  ascending,  it  shall  afford 
ever  broader  vistas,  a  gradual  transition  from 
a  worm's-eye  to  a  bird's-eye  view.  Most  men 
observe  events  from  the  common  level  and 
hence  see  them  without  perspective  and 
unduly  magnified.  Now  and  again  a  sage 
sees  them  from  above,  whence  they  are  insig- 
nificant. To  him,  men  appear  enshrouded 
in  the  obscurity  of  their  own  thoughts,  as 
the  cuttle-fish  in  the  ink  it  has  itself  ejected. 
He  sees  them  describing  little  circles  which 
were  but  yesterday  the  measure  of  his  own 
thought,  and  so  understands  and  feels  for 
them.     But  he  has  climbed  no  nearer  the 


14  Resources 

stars  who  has  not  discovered  the  fallacy  of  a 
purely  intellectual  life  and  the  greater  virtues 
of  the  heart.  "The  more  we  live  by  intel- 
lect," says  Tolstoi,  "the  less  we  understand 
the  meaning  of  life." 


CHAPTER  II 
SPIRIT 

IF  God  is  merely  a  matter  of  conjecture 
with  us,  let  us  frankly  avow  the  fact 
and  not  foolishly  acclaim  a  theory  in  which 
we  have  no  heart.  Why  should  we  feel 
under  obligation  to  assert  that  which  we  do 
not  inwardly  believe  and  which  can  therefore 
have  no  true  root  in  us.  It  is  a  silly  hypo- 
crisy which  does  no  one  any  good.  Unless 
it  is  disreputable  to  be  honest,  scorn  for  the 
sceptic  and  agnostic  is  ill  considered.  But  if 
God  is  indeed  a  solace  and  a  companion,  then 
from  our  hearts  may  we  announce  the  true 
source  of  man's  strength. 

When  we  venture  to  speak  of  God,  it  must 
not  be  as  of  a  particular  concept,  for  that 
were  but  to  repeat  the  fallacy  of  theology  in 
positing  an  aggregate  of  magnified  human 
attributes;  but  rather  as  the  ground  of  all 
concepts — not  that  which  may  be  known, 
but  that  by  which  we  know.      On  the  restless 

is 


16  Resources 

sea  of  life,  how  many  sailing  their  little 
course,  have  longed  for  some  permanent 
shore  on  which  to  rest.  That  absolute,  im- 
mutable amid  ceaseless  change,  enduring 
while  the  phantom  world  passes,  towards 
which  sorrowful  humanity  ever  yearns  as 
the  hart  panteth  for  the  water  brooks — that 
is  God. 

Him  we  know  as  love,  as  righteousness,  as 
beauty,  as  truth,  as  spirit,  such  being  the 
manifold  aspects  the  Omniscient  wears,  as 
the  all-pervading  light  is  resolved  into  its 
prismatic  colours.  A  flower,  we  do  not  know 
in  itself,  but  because  of  its  colour,  and  yet 
this  is  not  its  own  but  is  of  the  light.  Just 
so  is  a  friend  no  more  than  a  particular,  and 
to  us  admirable,  reflection  of  qualities  which 
are  universal.  What  we  admire  in  the  flower 
is  in  reality  the  sun's,  and  what  we  love  in  a 
friend  is  the  Spirit  manifesting  through  him. 
If  the  doctrine  appears  mystical,  be  it  said 
that  man's  relation  to  God  is  essentially 
mystical  in  as  much  as  the  Knower  can  never 
Himself  be  directly  known.  The  inner  life 
is  a  series  of  intimations  of  the  unknown  God 
of  whom  the  cosmos  is  the  manifestation. 
More  than  this  the  doctrine  is  one  of  love; 
and  as  Love  is  the  supreme  resource,   the 


Spirit  17 

love  of  God,  the  beginning  of  wisdom,  so 
may  the  Spirit  aptly  be  considered  here  in 
this  relation.  But  while  the  theologian  may 
announce  and  instruct  his  puppet  god,  we 
must  be  content  with   intimations  only. 

It  is  fruitless  indeed  to  discuss  the  nature 
of  God  since  infinity  is  not  subject  to  defini- 
tion, nor  the  absolute  understood  in  terms 
of  the  relative;  but  on  the  other  hand,  we 
may  profitably  consider  man's  relation  to 
the  Infinite.  What  God  is  in  the  abstract 
we  cannot  say,  but  what  God  is  to  us,  that 
each  man  may  answer  for  himself,  happy  if 
he  has  established  a  sincere  and  vital  rela- 
tion. The  constitution  of  the  sun  does  not 
so  much  concern  us,  as  that  we  may  be  in 
the  sunshine.  We  are  separated  from  God 
only  in  consciousness,  and  the  wise,  the  glori- 
fied souls  of  earth  have  sought  that  state  of 
mind  in  harmony  with  the  divine.  Not  the 
less  have  a  host  of  good  but  uninspired  men 
sought  the  Most  High  unknowingly.  To 
some  He  is  a  judge,  to  others  a  king,  but  he 
who  looks  upon  God  as  a  friend  is  instructed 
indeed,  for  love  and  not  fear  is  the  basis  of 
his  relationship. 

Under  all  appearances  lies  the  real  in 
eternal  repose,   as  beneath  the  waves  rests 


1 8  Resources 

the  vast  and  motionless  sea.  Through  some 
inscrutable  power,  that  which  is  one  is  beheld 
as  many : 

Life,  like  a  dome  of  many-coloured  glass, 
Stains  the  white  radiance  of  eternity. 

In  our  philosophic  and  religious  thought, 
seldom  if  ever  do  we  attain  that  clearness 
which  marks  the  metaphor  and  parable  of 
the  East,  so  vastly  more  effective  is  their 
imagery  than  our  argument  in  admitting 
light.  Take  for  instance  that  profound  com- 
parison of  the  rope  and  the  snake.  In  the 
dusk  one  is  assumed  to  mistake  a  rope  for 
the  coils  of  a  serpent.  Seeing,  as  he  supposes, 
a  snake,  he  sees  no  rope;  but  discovering  his 
mistake  he  then  perceives  the  rope  and  can 
no  longer  see  any  snake.  He  can  never  see 
both  in  one  and  the  same  act  of  appercep- 
tion. Possessed  by  the  illusion,  he  sees  not 
the  reality;  discovering  the  reality,  the  illu- 
sion vanishes.  So,  argued  the  ancient  seers, 
is  it  with  our  perception  of  God  and  the 
world.  The  strength  of  those  Eastern  thinkers 
lay  in  their  recognition  of  unity.  This  was 
not  less  true  of  Jesus  than  of  Krishna  or 
Sancaracharya.  God  alone  is,  and  man  is 
one  with  God,  as  the  drop  is  one  with  the 


Spirit  19 

sea,  the  ray  one  with  the  sun.  No  separa- 
tion does  or  can  exist  other  than  in  conscious- 
ness. The  whole  problem  of  religion,  nay  the 
problem  of  life,  is  one  of  realisation.  Realise 
that  which  is  eternally  true  with  reference  to 
thyself  and  God.  Our  spiritual  progress  is 
in  consciousness  only  and  consists  in  uncover- 
ing the  Soul.  Ever  the  sun  shines  while  the 
clouds  pass  over  the  earth;  ever  the  Soul  is 
serene  and  omniscient  while  the  mind  is 
enveloped  in  the  mists  of  doubt  and  ignorance. 

As  the  sunbeam  partakes  of  the  nature  of 
the  sun  and  has  no  life  of  itself,  existing  in 
virtue  of  the  sun  only,  so  does  the  individual 
Soul  partake  of  the  Spirit  and  is  itself  not 
susceptible  to  change.  "Neither  is  it  ever 
born  nor  doth  it  die."  We  must  address 
ourselves  to  the  realisation  of  the  Soul,  that 
we  may  bring  it  into  consciousness,  as  the 
sunlight  pierces  the  fog  and  dispels  the  gloom. 

Alas  we  erect  barriers  of  sand  against  an 
inexorable  sea.  In  a  world  of  change,  what 
more  evanescent  than  personality!  an  aggre- 
gate of  states  of  mind,  which  now  we  name 
youth,  anon  age.  While  we  cling  to  the 
form,  that  which  animates  it  eludes  us  and  is 
gone  and  another  takes  its  place.  We  are 
not  one  but  a  series.     Who  then  is  my  friend, 


20  Resources 

of  all  these  fleeting  phantoms?  Is  it  not 
the  good  in  him  which  holds  me — and  what 
is  that  but  God?  God  it  is  whom — all  un- 
consciously— we  search  out  and  love  amid 
these  many  guises;  He  it  is  who  drew  us  in 
the  child,  and  He  again  in  the  man — 

The  One  remains,  the  many  change  and  pass, 
Ah  believe  that  though  earth  pass  and  heaven 
fall — "thy  soul  and  God  stand  sure." 

It  were  futile  to  dwell  on  this  platitude  of 
the  impermanence  of  all  things,  were  it  not 
to  emphasise  the  nearness  of  that  which  we 
call  God,  and  to  indicate,  if  may  be,  that  be- 
neath all  quaking  bogs  is  solid  ground.  It 
is  the  great  heart  of  all  we  love;  of  that  we 
receive  intimations  through  the  beauty  of 
character  and  intellect.  The  more  we  love, 
the  nearer  are  we  drawn  to  God,  the  more 
closely  folded  in  the  embrace  of  the  Spirit. 
Let  us  take  heart!  Let  us  renew  our  faith 
in  the  established  order,  which  having  con- 
ducted us  to  this  point  through  an  immeasur- 
able past,  shall  no  less  surely  guide  in  the 
future.  Reflections  of  this  character  pro- 
mote in  us  the  assurance  of  a  beneficent 
compensation  divinely  woven  into  the  warp 
and  woof  of  life;  a  conviction  that  the  loss 


Spirit  21 

must  be  such  to  our  imperfect  vision  only, 
that  the  good  is  in  proportion  to  our  deserts. 
In  the  deprivation  of  death  is  relinquished 
that  only  which  had  no  permanent  and  hence 
no  real  existence.  In  our  saner  moments  we 
are  constrained  to  establish  truer  and  less 
superficial  relations;  that  is  to  say,  with  the 
Spirit  rather  than  with  the  clay. 

Religion— the  religion  of  the  heart — is  the 
cultivation  of  the  relation  to  God,  as  a  re- 
source— the  fundamental  resource.  We  may 
set  up,  if  we  wish,  a  personal  God,  but  this 
can  never  be  other  than  a  projection  of  our 
own  thought,  and  subject  to  change  with  an 
enlarging  conception.  Like  an  immovable 
screen  upon  which  pictures  are  thrown, 
stands  the  absolute — the  background  of  all 
concepts.  Not  yet  have  we  defined  elec- 
tricity and  yet  more  and  more  we  appropri- 
ate it.  Precisely  so  may  we  appropriate  the 
divine  energy  in  becoming  efficient  instru- 
ments, while  Spirit  itself  remains  superior  to 
our  concepts.  Thence  have  we  power,  and 
no  man  has  yet  seen  the  end.  We  resemble 
those  slender  wires  through  which  a  vast 
energy  may  flow.  The  energy  is  not  of  the 
wire,  but  uses  it  merely.  If  there  is  a  break 
it  escapes,  and  thus  do  we  human  conduits 


22  Resources 

dissipate  the  forces  of  which  we  are  mediums 
of  transmission.  The  problem  is  to  increase 
the  efficiency,  that  it  shall  not  be  ten  per 
cent  merely  and  the  balance  wasted,  but 
ninety  per  cent  if  may  be.  Never  yet  has 
the  world  taken  the  final  measure  of  a  man. 
He  is  that  variable  which  forever  approaches 
infinity.  As  the  shell  fish  on  the  beach  are 
unaware  of  man's  existence,  so  are  we  little 
justified  in  assuming  that  beyond  our  present 
range  of  consciousness  there  may  not  exist 
other  and  higher  beings,  as  far  removed 
from  us,  as  are  we  from  the  shell  fish. 

The  method  of  increasing  our  efficiency, 
attaining  God-consciousness  is  surely  a  prac- 
tical consideration.  We  are  thrilled  at  the 
suggestion  of  this  power.  Because  money  is 
power  of  a  sort,  the  world  is  dollar  mad;  but 
who  that  knows  the  repose  and  satisfaction 
of  the  inner  life  would  willingly  part  with  it 
for  any  worldly  consideration  ?  Peace  cometh 
with  understanding,  and  with  that  alone. 
Rest  assured  our  spiritual  efficiency  is  not 
increased  in  conventions  and  debates,  but 
in  meditation.  Great  is  the  power  of  silence. 
It  is  possible  to  so  discipline  the  conscious- 
ness that  it  will  react  in  a  definite  way,  serv- 
ing as  a  clear  and  flawless  glass  with  which 


Spirit  23 

to  observe  the  world  and  which  will  at  the 
same  time  permit  the  inner  light  to  shine 
forth. 

Self-knowledge,  the  Aryan  seers  truly  af- 
firmed to  be  the  path  to  God.  It  is  the  most 
ancient  of  philosophic  doctrines — and  the 
most  profound.  Popularly  attributed  to  the 
Delphic  oracle,  it  was  really  the  watchword 
of  mystical  India.  To  know  the  Self,  meant 
not  to  explore  the  superficial  consciousness 
but  to  transcend  consciousness;  that  is,  to 
lose  the  sense  of  separateness  and  gain  the 
sense  of  union.  In  the  Kata-Upanishad,  the 
Soul  or  Self  is  described  as  riding  in  a 
chariot,  the  body  the  chariot,  the  intellect  the 
charioteer,  the  mind  the  reins,  the  senses  the 
horses,  the  objects  of  the  senses  their  roads. 
In  the  Gita,  it  is  compared  to  the  wind,  which 
passing  over  the  flowers  takes  their  perfume. 
Thus  the  Soul  appears  as  invested  with  the 
qualities  which  really  pertain  to  nature.  God 
they  recognised  as  the  eternal  substance 
which  appears  as  both  subject  and  object. 
But,  as  through  consciousness  we  can  only 
know  our  concept  of  a  thing,  and  never  the 
thing — in — itself,  we  cannot  in  this  way 
know  God.  Thus  far  and  no  farther  Herbert 
Spencer  proceeds   and  naturally   posits   the 


24  Resources 

Supreme  as  the  Unknowable.  These  bold 
thinkers  go  farther  and  say  that  through 
superconsciousness  God  may  be  directly 
known,  that  through  complete  inhibition  of 
all  conscious  processes,  the  eternal  may  be 
realised  at  last.  In  that  apparent  void, 
they  affirm,  rises  the  star  of  truth.  It  is  too 
daring  a  venture  for  Western  thinkers,  but 
not  so  with  these  giants  of  the  spiritual  fore- 
world.  Theirs  was  the  vision  ineffable  which, 
since  the  dawn  of  history,  has  laid  India  under 
a  spell.  This  was  the  prophetic  dream  of 
Asia,  the  cradle  of  religion  and  of  philosophy. 
And  if  Asia  be  said  to  wake,  it  is  but  a  sleep- 
walking and  the  material  hypnosis  of  the 
West.  Her  life,  her  vision,  her  beauty,  are 
of  the  remote  past.  The  flowers  of  that  life 
are  the  Upanishads,  the  Gita,  the  Sutras,  the 
Tao  Teh  King,  the  wisdom  literature  of  Pal- 
estine. That  vision,  like  a  vanishing  comet, 
was  still  seen  by  Plotinus  and  Porphyry,  by 
Philo  the  Jew  and  Jesus  the  Christ. 

In  all  this,  I  do  not  aim  to  expound  a 
system  of  Yoga  to  a  workaday  world,  but 
merely  to  intimate  that  if — in  common  par- 
lance— a  man  has  found  himself,  has  found 
his  centre,  he  has  laid  the  only  firm  founda- 
tion on  which  to  build  character;  and,  what 


Spirit  25 

is  more,  such  intellectual  interests  as  he 
may  discover  will  prove  not  fads  but  true 
resources. 

It  is  in  solitude  we  draw  near  to  God;  in 
passive  states  the  mind  is  uplifted  and  dom- 
inated by  its  perception  of  truth,  and  the 
thought  is  at  rest  from  wandering  over  the 
earth.  It  is  as  though  the  din  and  clamour 
of  machinery  were  replaced  by  the  pleasant 
hum  of  bees  and  the  perfume  of  flowers. 
Deep  and  true  is  the  satisfaction  of  these 
Elysian  moments,  all  too  rare.  Ineffable  is 
the  presence  of  God  in  the  silence;  God  who 
peoples  the  lonely  places;  who  fills  the  heart 
which  has  become  as  that  of  a  child.  We 
are  bathed  in  that  supernal  light  which 
pierces  the  cold  clouds  of  mortality.  In  such 
times  of  illumination  it  is  given  us  to  see 
the  world  in  its  true  proportions  and  through 
the  thin  shell  of  matter  almost  to  detect  the 
majestic  outlines  of  the  Spirit.  It  is  a  new 
heaven  and  a  new  earth — for  it  is  a  new 
man  who  beholds  them;  or  rather  is  it  the 
vision  of  one  who  awakes  for  a  moment, 
only  to  sink  again  into  a  Lethean  slumber. 

Through  some  inscrutable  power,  all  Na- 
ture appears  to  be  in  conspiracy  to  deceive; 
forever  the  universal  lures  us  through  the 


26  Resources 

particular,  the  impersonal  beckons  us  in  the 
person.  God  then  is  the  solace  of  our  lives, 
and  above  anything  we  know  is  the  Unknown 
dear  to  us.  The  Spirit  possesses  and  in- 
structs that  man  who  divests  himself  of 
dogma  and  belief  and  makes  the  love  of 
God  his  religion,  and  he  has  life  more  abun- 
dantly. Liberty  is  in  the  spiritual  mind, 
and  only  as  we  invite  the  Spirit  do  we  cast 
off  the  shackles  which  bind.  For  the  Spirit 
in  us  is  free  while  consciousness  is  enslaved 
by  ignorance  and  fear. 

We  live  by  considerations  of  love,  of  char- 
acter, of  intellect.  Yet  God  is  the  essence 
of  these,  the  all-pervading  Love,  the  eternal 
Reason;  and  when  in  those  despairing  days 
which  come  ever  and  anon  to  the  lonely 
heart,  all  things  appear  to  fail,  it  is  none 
the  less  immersed  in  that  which  it  seems  to 
lack;  for  in  God  we  live  and  move,  and  life 
other  than  this  there  is  none.  The  com- 
panionship of  the  Spirit  is  ours,  yet  with 
sorrowful  eyes  we  sit  and  watch  all  things 
slip  from  us  into  the  sea  of  oblivion.  If 
you  ask  how  there  can  be  companionship 
with  the  impersonal,  bear  in  mind  that  it  is 
God  always  we  have  loved  under  the  guise 
of  the  personal.     We  have  not  tired  of  love, 


Spirit  27 

of  beauty,  of  truth,  but  only  as  these  were 
imperfectly  manifest  in  particular  persons 
have  they  failed  to  content  us.  In  our  ex- 
panding nature  ever  our  habitation  grows 
too  small  and  we  must  move  on.  In  us  is 
the  divine  wanderlust.  Our  life  is  a  camp 
for  a  night  upon  the  desert;  in  the  morning 
comes  the  call  to  depart,  and  we  press  on 
we  know  not  whither.  But  it  is  the  Holy 
Land  we  seek,  the  solid  ground  of  the  real; 
our  grail-motif,  the  call  of  the  Spirit.  And 
while  some  advance  knowingly,  we  are,  for 
the  most  part,  like  the  stupid  but  faithful 
rank  and  file,  who  at  the  command,  march, 
they  know  not  whither,  to  fight,  they  know 
not  who  nor  why. 

It  was  the  profound  utterance  of  a  mystic 
that  we  must  be  born  again  if  we  would  enter 
the  Kingdom  of  God — for  such  is  of  the  Spirit 
and  not  of  the  flesh.  The  heart  in  us  shall 
be  renewed  to  the  end  that  it  be  in  love 
with  spiritual  and  not  with  material  things. 
Peace  cometh  only  with  singleness  of  heart; 
where  there  is  a  division  of  consciousness 
there  is  war.  Such  trial  and  tribulation 
have  we  through  the  personal  with  its  multi- 
plicity of  desires  that  in  a  sort  of  despair 
we  have  come  to  speak  of  the  dead  as  at  rest 


28  Resources 

— as  if  there  were  no  rest  till  then.  Yet 
here  among  us  are  now  and  again  consecrated 
lives  which  belie  our  fear;  men  and  women 
who  have  come  to  relinquish  their  personal 
desires  and  to  universalise  their  thought, 
until  in  them  burns  a  pure  and  spiritual  light. 
They  are  the  silken  tassel  waving  in  the  sun, 
while  we  are  still  seed  corn  in  the  ground. 

Living  by  the  Spirit  is  more  than  piety 
or  morality;  it  is  an  inner  life,  an  inner  de- 
pendence, an  inner  joy.  It  is  not  a  reasoning 
about  God  but  a  feeling  for  God.  When  a 
man  has  found  himself  he  comes  to  rest, 
like  a  flame  out  of  the  wind.  The  source 
of  his  strength  is  not  in  circumstance  but 
in  the  Spirit.  The  spiritual  life  is  a  stratum 
of  being,  deeper  than  the  intellectual,  which 
forever  remains  calm  however  troubled  the 
surface.  Physical  life  is  meat  and  drink; 
spiritual  life,  righteousness  and  peace.  Man 
is  a  stream  whose  origin  is  in  God.  Let 
philosophers  and  theologians  argue  as  they 
please  about  the  nature  of  Deity;  what 
really  concerns  us  is  the  obvious  fact  that 
the  stream  must  be  open  to  its  source. 


CHAPTER  III 
LOVE 

INTELLECT  is  easily  a  tyrant,  and  all  the 
A  more  that  we  are  under  the  necessity 
of  cultivating  it,  does  it  assume  the  role  of 
autocrat.  Yet  there  is  one  greater  than 
the  intellect,  namely,  the  good  heart,  and 
its  language  is  not  that  of  the  world.  While 
the  intellect  has  many  tongues,  only  that 
has  been  great  which  has  voiced  some  frag- 
mentary message  of  love.  All  are  ephemeral, 
but  the  language  of  the  heart  has  remained 
unchanged. 

One  of  the  remarkable  facts  of  our  existence 
is  that  we  live  in  two  worlds  of  conscious- 
ness, one  spiritual,  the  other  intellectual  and 
material.  We  in  the  intellectual  are  forever 
in  search  of  ourselves  in  the  spiritual  world, 
although  frequently  denying  its  very  ex- 
istence. Only  as  we  are  born  again  do  we 
wholly  perceive  our  relation  to  that  ■  sphere 

where  not  law  but  love  obtains.     For  the 

29 


So  Resources 

two  worlds  have  little  in  common,  inasmuch 
as  they  represent  premises  so  distinctly  at 
variance  that  the  best  conclusions  drawn 
from  one  can  have  no  bearing  upon  the 
other. 

In  the  gospels,  especially  in  John,  is  the 
most  profound  recognition  of  this  disparity 
in  any  literature.  Jesus  was  above  all  the 
apostle,  not  of  the  intellect  but  of  the  heart, 
and  His  was  the  sublime  utterance  of  love. 
Not  power,  not  ability,  not  genius,  but  the 
heart  of  a  child  shall  admit  us  to  that 
Elysium  which  is  righteousness  and  peace. 
Blessed  are  not  the  intellectual  as  such,  but 
rather  the  pure  in  heart. 

The  intellect  can  do  no  more  than  trans- 
late this  lofty  idiom  in  terms  of  its  own  dia- 
lect. Science  reveals  to  us  the  nature  of  the 
sun  but  gives  us  no  sunlight;  the  properties 
of  water  but  quenches  not  the  thirst.  Love 
is  concerned,  not  with  facts  of  sun  and 
water,  but  is  itself  the  light  of  the  world, 
the  water  of  life.  It  .is  apprehended  in 
terms  of  feeling  rather  than  of  thought. 
The  intellect  is  ground  glass;  the  ordinary 
ambitions  of  men  a  pall,  yet  upon  these 
streams  love's  supernal  light,  as  the  sun  shines 
upon   the  clouds  which   envelop  the  earth. 


Love  3  i 

The  moralist  does  no  more  than  indicate 
its  effect  upon  conduct  and  should  know 
that  love  writes  no  treatises  on  morals  or 
ethics  but  writes  itself.  We  may  say  of  it 
as  a  resource,  that  it  is  a  refuge  from  the 
intellect,  from  the  selfishness  of  the  world — 
above  all,  from  our  own  selfishness, — into 
which  we  may  escape  as  into  some  pure 
and  celestial  region.  If  we  are  cold,  we  do 
not  read  a  treatise  on  the  sun,  but  go  into 
the  sunshine  and  are  warmed;  even  so  there 
is  little  to  be  said  of  love.  Only  let  the 
sayer  himself  sit  in  the  sunshine  as  he  writes, 
that  a  ray  may  fall  aslant  his  page  and  be 
reflected  again. 

He  may  intimate,  if  no  more,  how  empty 
are  all  resources  if  love  has  gone  out  of  the 
heart ;  what  a  tower  of  confusion  the  intellect 
builds  if  love  has  no  part  in  its  life — and  the 
bitter  experience  of  every  man  shall  arise 
like  a  ghost  from  the  tomb  and  assent.  It 
is  the  touchstone  which  turns  to  gold  re- 
sources which  otherwise  become  ashes.  Would 
we  turn  to  Nature?  then  must  we  have  the 
bird  in  our  hearts.  Society  ?  it  is  but  a  mock- 
ery, and  conversation  a  wine  that  leaves  an 
unpleasant  taste — without  love.  Without  it, 
solitude   is    isolation  and  travel    the  weary 


32  Resources 

pursuit  of  a  phantom ;  work — toil,  thinking — 
unprofitable,  and  success — failure.  A  loveless 
life  is  a  sunless  world  and  perhaps  this  is  the 
last  word  that  can  be  said. 

The  world  bids  us  assert  our  self-interest 
and  its  ideal  is  selfishness.  Love  declares 
that  he  who  loseth  his  life  shall  find  it;  and 
thus  they  who  are  greatest  in  love,  may 
easily  be  least  in  the  world.  The  perversion 
of  the  doctrine  has  been  the  teaching  that 
we  should  relinquish  here  only  that  we  may 
have  more  hereafter,  and  this  is  sustained 
by  neither  philosophy  nor  common  sense. 
If  that  were  all,  better  with  Omar, — "take 
the  cash  and  let  the  credit  go."  Truth 
speaks  ever  from  beyond  time  and  space,  and 
hence  the  difficulty  of  translating  the  spiritual 
in  terms  of  the  phenomenal  in  which  we  are 
immersed  as  a  fish  in  water.  The  philo- 
sophic ground  of  this  same  doctrine  is  one 
with  that  of  the  liberty  of  the  Soul.  It  is 
one  divine  Self  in  all  men.  A  life  of  self- 
seeking  is  a  life  of  illusion  and  we  dig  from 
the  pit  of  selfishness  only  fools'  gold.  What- 
ever we  seem  to  take  from  another  we  abstract 
from  ourselves  by  an  exact  compensation. 
We  live  in  a  moral  universe  wherein  we  can- 
not so  much  as  escape  the  result  of  a  single 


Love  33 

thought,  and  yet  we  imagine  we  throw  dice 
with  the  gods  and  by  a  clever  system  may 
win.  Let  a  man  forever  ask  himself:  What 
is  real?  Let  him  know  that  he  himself  is 
heaven  and  hell — himself  the  jury  and  him- 
self the  judge.  He  sows — he  reaps.  We 
plant  in  the  fields  of  illusion  and  harvest 
only  tares.  If  we  seek  to  appear,  rather 
than  to  be,  then  must  we  be  content  with 
the  appearance  of  happiness.  Never  yet  has 
any  man  gathered  figs  from  thistles. 

Love  and  wisdom  are  but  higher  levels  of 
our  estate.  From  the  confusion  of  the  lower 
planes  we  may  ascend  into  the  peace  of  high 
places;  that  is  to  say,  we  may  escape  from 
self-love  which  knows  no  peace,  into  that 
divine  and  selfless  love  which  is  peace  itself. 
Self-love  is  the  enchantress  who,  like  wine, 
ever  promises  that  which  she  has  it  not  in 
her  power  to  give.  The  world  is  her  dupe 
and  all  her  assurances  yield  in  the  end  but 
despair.  How  shall  one  ascend  while  he  is 
burdened  with  ambition  and  the  multitude 
of  desires?  "Only  the  light  armed  get  to 
the  top,"  and  renunciation  of  this  sort  has 
better  grounds  in  a  practical  psychology  than 
ever  it  had  in  Christian  piety.  Work!  coun- 
selled  the   sages — but   without    attachment. 


34  Resources 

Work  for  love  of  the  work  and  love  shall  be 
the  reward;  work  for  love  of  gain  and  bread 
shall  turn  to  gravel  in  the  mouth.  Now  and 
again  some  great  traveller  has  visited  the 
earth  and  to  its  purblind  inhabitants  has 
seemed  an  archangel  of  God,  but  he  was  no 
more  than  the  simple  apostle  of  love  de- 
scending among  us  from  above;  his  revela- 
tion, the  alphabet  of  a  more  exalted  idiom. 
If  a  man  stand  on  a  mountain,  by  what  ar- 
gument shall  he  convince  those  below  of 
that  which  he  so  plainly  sees?  He  can  but 
call  to  them  to  come  up,  and  when  they 
stand  where  he  stands,  they  shall  see  for 
themselves. 

What  is  a  leaf  without  the  branch,  a 
branch  without  the  tree,  the  tree  without 
the  earth,  or  earth  without  the  sun?  And 
if  a  leaf  were  to  have  consciousness  and 
imagine  its  life  its  own  and  consisted  in 
opposing  the  other  leaves  on  the  tree,  what 
would  it  avail?  Yet  precisely  such  in  our 
ignorance  is  our  attitude.  While  the  world 
is  mad  for  possession,  love  possesses  itself 
and  is  content.  He  who  truly  lives  by  it, 
dwells  with  God  and  all  things  are  his.  For 
as  the  sense  of  the  personal  diminishes,  the 
perception  of  the  universal  increases.     When 


Love  35 

love  opens  his  eyes  he  comes  forth  from  that 
prison  which  is  of  his  own  building.  No 
longer  selfish  and  unrelated,  he  allies  himself 
with  the  heart  of  things  and  into  him  passes 
the  strength  of  the  strong,  the  wisdom  of  the 
wise.  This  is  his  portion  who  opens  the 
door  of  self  and  stands  in  the  full  light 
of  day.  When  he  has  consciously  linked 
himself  with  the  source,  he  shall  no  longer 
think  of  his  strength,  his  will,  his  intelli- 
gence, but  of  the  one  love,  will,  and  intelligence 
of  which  he  has  made  himself  a  more  efficient 
instrument.  It  is  no  miracle  that  he  lives  by 
a  higher  law  in  proportion  as  he  is  great  and 
impersonal  in  his  aims,  and  the  love  of  God 
may  have  supplanted  in  him  the  love  of  self; 
no  more  a  miracle  than  that  the  cicada  after 
its  transformation  should  cease  grubbing  in 
the  earth  to  fly  in  the  sunshine. 

Believe  in  your  heart  that  the  good  God 
is  love,  is  all  in  all.  Believe  that  love  is  the 
reality,  like  light  suffusing  your  being,  and 
hate  and  fear  no  more  than  darkness,  the 
power  of  evil  but  the  sinister  thought  of  the 
world.  Believe  and  live!  Love  and  fear 
can  no  more  subsist  together  than  can  light 
and  darkness,  and  love  casteth  out  fear, 
even  as  darkness  vanishes  before  the  rays 


36  Resources 

of  the  sun.  The  spiritual  mind  is  a  world 
of  light.  Only  a  lower  order  of  thought 
can  subsist  in  an  atmosphere  of  fear,  as 
only  an  inferior  order  of  life  can  maintain 
itself  in  darkness.  Many  minds  are  infested 
with  fear,  and  in  their  gloomy  chambers, 
timorous  thought  lives  pale  and  wan.  But 
who  can  predict  the  hour  when  love,  the 
liberator,  shall  knock  at  the  door  of  con- 
sciousness! 

Love  has  its  counterfeits  and  as  often  as 
not,  fear  itself  masquerades — a  wolf  in  sheep's 
clothing.  We  cannot  too  often  remind  our- 
selves that  in  perfect  love  is  no  anxiety. 
Love  is  care  free;  love  has  faith;  love  is 
serene.  Deeper  must  we  go  and  deeper  yet. 
Personal  love  must  rest  on  the  love  of  God, 
else  it  will  fail.  Can  love  be  suspicious  and 
distrustful?  Or  is  it  fear  in  which  we  live, 
and  must  we,  like  the  poor  Indian,  make  a 
show  of  propitiating  the  gods  before  whom 
we  tremble?  If  we  would  but  believe  in  the 
living  God ! 

The  best  sermon  on  love  was  written  per- 
haps in  the  first  century,  but  it  has  remained 
for  the  present  to  add  the  force  of  practical 
application,  for  these  are  practical  times. 
No  one  doubts  to-day  the  moral  cause  of 


Love  37 

some  diseases  and  that  an  exaggerated  ego- 
tism and  selfishness  are  responsible  for  many 
nervous  disorders.  The  self-centred  is  like 
one  who  persistently  pokes  his  finger  into  his 
own  eye;  irritation  follows  and  inflammation 
may  ensue.  Remove  the  pressure  and  the 
normal  condition  is  re-established.  There 
must  be  love  currents  in  the  mind,  as  there 
must  be  circulation  in  a  lake  if  the  water 
is  not  to  stagnate.  Let  the  self-centred 
and  egotistical  take  their  thoughts  off  them- 
selves ;  let  them  take  their  fingers  out  of  their 
eyes.  Love  is  the  cure  and  selfishness  the 
disease. 

As  a  ray  of  light  in  a  dark  room  reveals 
the  dust  and  cobwebs,  love  by  its  presence 
and  without  criticism  discloses  the  defects 
of  character.  With  no  assumption  and  with- 
out pretence,  it  works  silently  and  benefi- 
cently as  the  sunlight.  And  for  lack  of  it  how 
troublesome  are  our  days.  That  we  might 
see  that  the  little  things  make  up  life!  So 
many  giants  die  of  pin  pricks.  So  many 
houses  there  are,  but  so  few  homes — all  for 
lack  of  considerateness.  Who  will  allow  us 
the  luxury  of  our  little  mistakes ;  who  is  there 
will  criticise  only  in  love  and  after  much  re- 
flection; who  will  put  himself  in  another's 


38  Resources 

place  ere  he  judge;  who  will  hold  his  peace 
and  bridle  his  thoughts;  who  help  without 
assuming  to  dictate,  to  patronise,  to  disap- 
prove? Verily  when  the  angel  reads,  he 
shall  be  first.  Alas!  the  spirit  of  criticism 
is  ever  abroad  in  the  land.  The  village  is 
infected  with  gossip,  the  professions  with 
jealousy.  Over  this  sorry  scheme  brood  the 
vultures  of  despair — theirs  is  the  harvest. 
If  we  need  salvation  't  is  from  this,  and  behold 
love  is  the  saviour. 

Though  the  world  be  an  appearance,  it 
nevertheless  answers  a  purpose.  If  the  per- 
sonal be  an  illusion,  it  still  serves  the  ends 
of  the  impersonal.  In  much  that  we  do  we 
are  puppets  of  Nature  who  ever  deceives 
us  into  thinking  we  act  for  ourselves.  We 
marry  that  the  species  may  be  perpetuated 
and  our  little  pleasures  are  the  sops  she 
throws  us.  She  uses  our  bones  to  fertilise 
the  fields  and  our  flesh  to  feed  worms  withal 
— that  other  species  may  live  and  propagate. 
The  flesh  is  clay  in  her  hands.  Hers  is  the 
passion;  hers  the  result — and  we  the  un- 
suspecting means.  The  love  of  any  man  for 
any  woman  voices  the  immeasurable  past,  and 
at  the  door  of  their  union  cries  the  unborn 
future.     But    all   the   time   we    are   serving 


Love  39 

greater  ends  than  these  and  love  silently  ful- 
fils its  ministry  in  us.  Life  is  a  process  of 
relinquishment.  We  may  venture  to  as- 
sume that  the  world  exists, — or  appears, — 
to  one  supreme  end ;  not  as  some  would  have 
us  believe,  that  species  may  propagate  and 
their  bones  fertilise  the  soil,  but  that  the 
spiritual  man  should  arise  and  go  hence,  the 
Soul  be  divested  of  the  last  holds  of  illusion 
and  return  to  its  native  freedom. 

If  the  fond  delusions  of  youth  fade,  as 
fade  they  must,  shall  they  not  be  replaced 
by  companionship  whose  basis  is  loyalty 
and  truth?  The  illuminating  effect  of  per- 
sonal love  is  that  one  shall  question  and 
examine  himself  that  he  become  more  worthy 
the  object  of  his  affection.  If  it  do  not  so,  it 
is  no  love  at  all  but  a  counterfeit  merely ;  and 
you  shall  know  it  is  spurious  by  the  result. 
We  beget  children  to  serve  Nature,  but  in 
the  sacrifice  we  make  for  them,  in  the  puri- 
fication of  ourselves,  in  the  growth  of  charac- 
ter, we  serve  love  and  the  end  justifies  the 
means. 

Let  any  man  write  or  speak  sincerely  of 
love  in  its  divine  and  essential  character, 
and  he  shall  feel  that  he  preaches  better 
than  he  lives;  that  not  for  one  day  has  he 


40  Resources 

observed  its  maxims.  Yet  shall  he  write 
none  the  less  for  being  but  an  indifferent 
channel  of  that  truth  which  uses  him.  Per- 
chance he  shall  evolve  no  more  than  a 
treatise  on  the  sun;  and  again,  it  may  be, 
his  page  shall  reflect  a  ray  of  sunshine. 


CHAPTER  IV 
WISDOM 

AS  love  is  that  leaven  without  which  all 
were  flat  and  stale,  wisdom  is  the 
revelation  of  true  values.  To  the  man  of 
perception,  resources  assume  their  just  pro- 
portions and  stand  related;  for  resources 
are  such  only  as  they  fit  into  life.  It  is  the 
living  counts  and  our  life  may  be  compared 
to  a  mosaic  of  which  these  are  the  pieces. 
We  are  destined  to  be  men,  and  not  merely 
painters,  musicians,  or  merchants — not  merely 
readers,  talkers,  and  thinkers;  and  it  is  as 
men,  and  as  wise  men  if  may  be,  that  we 
shall  read  and  observe  and  speak. 

He  was  truly  a  wise  man  who  counselled 
that  with  all  our  getting  we  should  get 
understanding;  for  without  it  how  shall  the 
rich  spend,  or  the  talented  direct  their 
ability,  or  we  avail  ourselves  to  the  best 
advantage  of  our  powers  and  resources. 
We  have  examples  enough  of  men  who  see 

41 


42  Resources 

their  single  resource,  their  one  talent,  out 
of  focus ;  men  of  one  idea  who  have  acquired 
no  solid  character  upon  which  to  graft  it. 
On  the  other  hand  men  of  fads,  dilettantes 
in  art  as  they  are  dilettantes  in  life,  with 
whom  music  is  a  fad — health,  religion,  philo- 
sophy, all  fads.  We  must  first  live,  and 
plant  our  feet  squarely,  and  this  wisdom 
shall  help  us  to  do. 

It  signifies  little  to  us  that  two  and  two 
make  four  if  we  have  not  a  perception  of 
the  fact.  Upon  perception,  or  lack  of  it, 
rests  the  superstructure  of  any  life — be  it 
modified  never  so  much  by  temperament. 
Let  two  men  perceive  that  life  is  essentially 
spiritual,  not  material,  and  one  may  be  a 
poet,  the  other  a  farmer,  but  they  will  orient 
themselves  accordingly.  It  is  not  by  agree- 
ment that  two  and  two  are  four,  or  that  the 
radius  of  the  circle  bears  a  definite  ratio  to 
the  circumference.  Truth  is  truth,  inde- 
pendent of  opinion,  and  wisdom  is  the 
adaptation,  not  to  opinion,  but  to  fact. 
You  know  that  you  are,  but  if  the  fool  should 
ask  for  proof,  what  will  you  say?  You  may 
deny  God,  but  all  the  while  it  is  by  reason  of 
God  that  you  have  the  mind  wherewith  to 
deny.     The   cynics  were  wont   to   say  that 


Wisdom  43 

everything  was  a  matter  of  opinion,  and  they 
expressed  a  half  truth.  There  will  always 
be  a  large  class  of  men  to  whom  their  particu- 
lar opinion  is  truth,  and  all  other  opinions 
error.  More  than  one  deep  lake  is  believed 
by  the  simple  to  have  no  bottom;  but  the 
geologist  can  tell  precisely  what  rock  con- 
stitutes the  floor  and  to  what  age  it  belongs. 
Underlying  the  sea  of  opinions  is  a  bed  of 
truth,  and  all  the  storms  of  that  illusory 
sea  have  not  changed  the  eternal  facts. 

The  parable  of  the  man  who  built  his 
house  upon  the  rock  so  that  when  the  winds 
blew,  it  stood,  contains  the  essence  of  wis- 
dom. In  what  shall  we  put  our  trust? 
Wisdom  crieth  aloud  but  the  man  in  the 
street  bows  down  none  the  less  to  his  golden 
calf.  O  great  calf,  in  thee  we  trust !  Things 
are  not  what  they  seem  and  wisdom  is  a 
sixth  sense,  apprehending  verities  and  apply- 
ing them  to  life:  such  as  that  man  is  spirit; 
that  the  universe  is  a  moral  order  in  which 
cause  and  effect  are  bound  up  together;  that 
we  react  upon  our  opinions,  and  that  these 
may  be  changed;  that  heaven  or  harmony  is 
an  inner  state.  "Drink  and  be  merry!'1 
cries  the  fool,  "for  to-morrow  we  die." 
"Aye,  and  reap  the  harvest,"  adds  wisdom. 


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It  is  a  prudence  of  a  higher  order  which 
would  know  just  what  is  to  pay  for  our 
seeming  pleasures,  our  ambitions,  and  if  a 
poor  bargain,  discourages  it.  So  much  that 
is  cheap  proves  dear  in  the  end,  and  that 
which  comes  without  effort  may  be  of  little 
worth.  At  what  value  shall  we  reckon 
praise  and  blame,  fame  and  position?  All 
things  are  relative  and  what  men  set  their 
hearts  upon  may  easily  prove  a  hindrance 
to  their  peace  of  mind.  Civilised  men  sacri- 
fice honour  and  self-respect  for  a  little  gold, 
while  the  poor  savage  will  exchange  his  gold 
for  some  glass  beads. 

Men  live  by  fads  and  fancies  and  .follow 
the  prevailing  ideas  as  they  do  the  fashions; 
truth  and  error,  health  and  disease,  war  and 
peace — all  are  contagious.  States  of  war, 
eras  of  learning,  religious  revivals,  are  epi- 
demics in  which  men  are  swept  along  in  the 
flood.  Witness  the  crusades,  the  explora- 
tions, the  conquests.  There  have  been 
epidemics  of  monasticism,  of  alchemy,  of 
crinoline,  of  bicycles,  but  never  yet  an  epi- 
demic of  sanity.  Now  sanity  is  the  flower  of 
wisdom.  In  religion  it  is  the  middle  path; 
in  philosophy,  reason;  in  ways  of  living  it  is 
simplicity;  in  eating  and  drinking,  modera- 


Wisdom  45 

tion.  Nature  has  appointed  to  us  hours  of 
sleep  and  made  certain  requirements  with 
respect  to  food  and  exercise  and  cleanliness. 
The  common  prudence  which  recognises  these 
is  sanity,  the  sanity  of  the  animal;  and  while 
with  respect  to  our  physical  life  we  are  ani- 
mals— vertebrates,  mammals,  primates — yet 
we  are  less  sane  in  this  low  order  of  prudence 
than  the  beasts.  A  higher  prudence  recog- 
nises the  social,  ethical,  and  spiritual  needs 
of  the  thinker  who  inhabits  this  body.  He 
needs  truth  as  he  needs  bread;  solitude  as 
well  as  society;  love  no  less  than  money; 
recreation  as  much  as  work.  These  are  his 
higher  necessities,  not  as  a  vertebrate,  but 
as  a  man,  and  he  is  sane  in  the  ratio  of  his 
recognition  and  application  of  the  fact.  As 
the  sanity  of  the  athlete  counsels  him  to  use 
his  muscles  if  they  are  to  be  efficient,  so 
must  the  intellectual  man  exercise  his  will 
and  mentality,  the  spiritual  man  his  spiritual 
faculties.  It  is  but  a  higher  order  of  the 
same  prudence  that  counsels  a  man  to  rest  and 
to  eat  wisely;  which  in  turn  admonishes  him 
not  to  be  just  and  kind  and  true,  if  he  would 
militate  against  his  own  well-being.  Health 
is  moral  and  spiritual  no  less  than  physical, 
and  the  vices  of  the  inner  man  are  fear,  malice, 


46  Resources 

and  insincerity.  The  common  insanity  of 
the  ages  is  the  slavery  to  the  body,  the  belief 
that  the  body  is  the  man,  rather  than  his 
instrument  merely ;  and  hence  the  over-stimu- 
lation of  sense  activity-  The  very  opposite 
mania  has  possessed  the  mind  of  the  East, 
and  lo,  the  dismal  ascetic!  One  is  as  far 
removed  from  sanity  as  the  other.  To  the 
eye  of  wisdom,  the  body,  of  small  consequence 
in  itself,  is  vastly  important  as  a  means,  as  the 
efficient  medium  of  higher  activities. 

Above  all  does  this  higher  prudence  guard 
the  sanctity  of  the  mind,  and  obviously  for 
the  reason  that  through  the  mind  we  know 
what  we  know,  and  hence  it  should  be  kept 
pure,  serene,  and  free.  If  it  is  warped,  how 
can  we  know  anything  truly?  To  look 
through  a  distorting  glass  is  to  see  all  things 
distorted.  If  the  mind  be  dominated  by 
sensations,  it  is  a  ruffled  lake  and  cannot 
possibly  reflect  the  heavens  until  the  surface 
is  again  at  rest.  "If  we  live  truly,  we  shall 
see  truly"  is  the  maxim  upon  which  the 
wise  man  may  base  his  life,  for  it  is  the  root 
idea  of  wisdom.  To  this  end  it  counsels 
simplicity;  to  this  end  it  would  preserve 
tranquillity.  To  it,  the  greatest  of  all  pos- 
sessions  is   self-possession.     And   the  mania 


Wisdom  47 

for  things  is  strong  in  the  ratio  that  one 
lacks  this.  Self-restraint,  moderation,  sim- 
plicity, are  not  so  much  in  themselves,  but 
important  as  they  minister  to  true  living  and 
thence  to  clear  seeing.  Whatever  way  of 
life  obstructs  the  instrument  of  the  mind  is 
inimical.  A  man  is  his  own  enemy  and  his 
own  friend.  As  a  little  alcohol  or  a  little 
opium  may  make  the  world  appear  in  a 
different  light,  so  there  are  various  false 
ideals  which  are  mind-poisons  and  so  disturb 
the  mind  as  to  completely  colour  its  view  of 
the  world.  The  very  complexity  of  modern 
civilisation  unfits  us  for  quiet  and  serene 
thought.  But  do  we  gain  anything  half  so 
dear  as  what  we  lose?  Wisdom  has  no  part 
in  the  din  and  hubbub,  the  greed  and  osten- 
tation of  our  present  mode  of  life.  Rather 
are  her  ways  the  ways  of  pleasantness  and 
her  paths  are  peace.  Since  we  react,  not 
directly  upon  our  sensations  of  the  outer 
world,  but  upon  the  opinions  within  us  to 
which  these  give  rise,  if  these  opinions  are 
just,  there  is  the  less  chance  of  our  being 
disturbed.  An  unrestrained  or  undisciplined 
mind  cannot  well  arrive  at  true  conclusions, 
and  is  thus  more  or  less  disorganised  by 
every  message  the  afferent  nerves  bring  in. 


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While  into  a  mind  that  is  serene  and  well 
poised,  the  man  shall  retire  at  will  as  into 
some  sanctuary,  some  retreat  from  the  noisy 
world  without,  and  from  the  vantage  of  that 
inner  silence  and  harmony  may  view  the 
passing  show  with  equanimity. 

Wisdom  is  not  any  particular  theory  of 
life,  which  to-day  is  true  and  to-morrow  is 
not;  it  is  the  uncommon  sense  of  men  in  all 
times,  and  the  best  proverbs  of  any  people 
are  universal  in  their  application.  For  let 
customs  and  manners  differ  never  so  much, 
human  nature  is  one.  Men  behaved  in 
much  the  same  way  in  Nineveh  as  they  do 
in  New  York,  for  they  had  the  same  passions 
and  were  more  or  less  amenable  to  the  same 
reason.  The  passion  is  in  nature,  the  reason 
is  eternal,  and  men  went  through  their  puppet 
motions  then  as  they  do  now,  as  they  will  a 
thousand  or  ten  thousand  years  hence.  Some 
lived  to  their  senses  while  others  practised 
restraint;  some  were  tranquil  and  others 
the  prey  of  conditions.  The  wisdom  of  the 
Chinese,  the  Hebrews,  the  Greeks  is  quite  as 
applicable  to  us  as  to  them.  It  is  in  fact  not 
of  the  East  nor  of  the  West  but  is  eternal 
reasonableness,  which  wherever  perceived  con- 
strains a  man  to  live  accordingly,  whether 


Wisdom  49 

Yaveh  or  Jove  or  Osiris,  or  the  three  and 
thirty  thousand  gods  be  ascendant  in  his  day. 
A  change  from  falernian  to  champagne,  from 
togas  to  frock  coats,  from  chariots  to  motor 
cars  is  insignificant.  The  same  man  drinks 
and  rides  or  is  ridden.  The  same  riches  take 
to  themselves  wings;  the  same  fears  and 
sorrows  haunt  the  mind.  It  is  vanity  now 
as  it  was  vanity  then. 

But  whenever  he  has  been  amenable  to  this 
eternal  reasonableness,  man  has  been  tem- 
perate and  just  in  his  relations;  he  has  re- 
garded death  as  but  another  change  and  has 
freed  himself  as  far  as  he  could  from  the  wheel 
of  things,  deeming  his  peace  of  mind  of  more 
value  than  all  things  whatsoever.  We  fashion 
our  life  according  to  our  ideals.  Whatever 
ideal  is  accepted,  the  faculties  like  faithful 
workmen  at  once  begin  to  model  upon  these 
lines,  until  the  very  expression  of  the  face 
gives  acquiescence. 

These  ideals  enter  and  inhabit  us  like  so 
many  good  or  evil  spirits,  peering  forth  from 
the  eyes  of  the  man  as  from  the  windows  of 
a  house.  In  this  house  dwells  Greed ;  in  that 
Patience;  here  Pleasure  looks  out  upon  the 
world ;  there  Courage ;  and  from  these  windows 
Love  beams  afar.     Now  the  ideals  of  wisdom 


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have  not  changed  from  the  foundation  of  the 
world. 

National  ideals,  however,  do  constantly 
change,  and  as  many  men  accept  without  fur- 
ther thought  the  faith  and  the  politics  of  their 
fathers,  so  they  absorb  the  spirit  of  the  times 
in  which  they  live,  whether  the  age  be  spiritual 
or  material,  martial  or  industrial.  But  what- 
ever the  fashion  in  these  things,  love  and  not 
hate,  peace  and  not  strife,  sincerity  and  not 
pretence  are  the  true  ideals,  the  children  of 
wisdom.  Whatever  the  world  cry  up  or 
down  for  the  moment,  the  fact  remains  that 
this  life  is  transitory  and  he  who  heapeth 
up  riches  knoweth  not  who  shall  spend  them. 

In  the  interminable  stretch  of  time,  the 
endless  reach  of  space,  as  long  as  there  is 
birth  there  shall  be  death,  and  whatever  is 
manifest  shall  be  temporal  and  fleeting. 
But  He  who  holds  the  seven  little  seas  in  the 
hollow  of  His  hand — He  changeth  not.  Ever 
and  forever  truth  is  inevitable;  whatever  is 
is  best,  and  whatever  is  not  best  is  but  a 
seeming.  The  wise  are  ever  they  who  dis- 
cover and  adapt  themselves  to  this  inevi- 
table, while  committed  but  provisionally  to 
the  appearance;  and  be  there  never  so  many 
tempests  in  the  little  teapot  of  the  world, 


Wisdom  5 l 

they  shall  know  them  for  what  they  are. 
To  be  upright  and  to  think  no  evil;  to  love 
truth  and  beauty  more  than  money  or  power; 
to  esteem  the  tranquillity  of  the  mind  above 
the  applause  of  men — this  is  the  path  of 
serenity. 

In  relation  to  destiny,  wisdom  has  an 
equally  practical  application.  If  a  man 
knows  that  two  and  two  are  four,  he  will 
figure  accordingly,  but  if  he  believe  the  sum 
to  be  three,  or  five,  all  his  computations 
must  suffer.  They  who  believe  that  a  hypo- 
thetical chance  or  fate  is  governing  their 
lives  are  making  just  such  a  false  calculation, 
and  to  them  destiny  is  something  altogether 
external  and  alien  to  their  thought,  which 
at  the  same  time  is  moulding  and  crushing 
their  lives  by  an  iron  necessity.  Yet  to- 
day is  creating  to-morrow  and  the  thoughts 
of  the  hour  project  their  long  shadows  ahead. 

States  of  consciousness  picture  themselves 
in  conditions  and  the  mental  attitude  at- 
tracts its  like.  You  may  know  which  way 
the  wind  blows  by  the  outward  signs,  but 
the  wind  itself  you  cannot  see.  So  is  the 
energy  of  thought,  like  the  invisible  wind, 
blowing  the  sands  of  life  this  way  or  that. 
If  the  energy  be  misdirected  it  creates  havoc. 


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We  are  easily  lost  in  this  subject  of  destiny, 
inasmuch  as  the  eternal  why  is  beyond  us. 
But  there  is  one  thing  to  be  borne  in  mind; 
it  is  not  known  why  the  atoms  of  certain 
elements  have  an  affinity  while  others  do  not, 
but  we  know  that  they  do  and  we  know  their 
valance  and  the  conditions  under  which  they 
react  in  a  given  way,  and  witness  the  im- 
mense and  practical  application  of  this  know- 
ledge in  the  arts.  Similarly,  we  do  not  know 
why  certain  effects  follow  given  causes  in 
human  life,  nor  why  we  are  here,  nor  why 
we  are  at  all;  but  we  do  know  the  relation 
and  sequence  of  cause  and  effect.  While 
over  the  cosmic  destiny  of  man  we  have  no 
influence,  over  the  individual  destiny  we 
have  control  in  proportion  as  we  wisely 
direct  the  energy  of  the  mind  by  a  disci- 
plined will  acting  in  accordance  with  prin- 
ciples of  love  and  truth. 

Let  us  be  serene  then.  It  were  worth 
while  to  be  cheerful  if  for  no  better  reason 
than  that  it  aids  digestion.  They  are  dead 
and  buried  who  but  yesterday  disturbed 
themselves  to  so  little  purpose,  and  much  of 
their  trouble  was  of  their  own  making.  They 
bequeathed  us  the  lesson  of  their  virtues  and 
their   vices.     They   taught  us   how  little   it 


Wisdom  53 

all  amounted  to,  apart  from  the  example  of 
a  sane  and  noble  life.  Far  away  to  the  hills 
of  Peace  still  stretches  the  ancient  path  of 
wisdom — stretches  and  waits   for  us. 


CHAPTER  V 
THINKING 

IN  the  present  chapter  we  shall  consider 
the  mind  in  a  purely  practical  relation; 
that  is,  with  reference  to  its  commoner 
activities  and  their  influence  on  the  body. 
It  is  obvious  that  sane  and  wholesome  think- 
ing tends  to  a  balanced  state  of  mind;  it 
is  equally  true,  if  less  evident,  that  such 
thinking  reacts  upon  the  viscera,  influen- 
cing their  functions  through  the  nerve  cen- 
tres by  which  they  are  controlled.  The 
mind  itself  may  generate  either  healthy  or 
diseased  thought;  quite  as  an  organ  of 
the  body  may  produce  normal  or  abnor- 
mal secretion,  acting  under  favourable  or 
adverse  conditions.  It  is  the  province  of 
reason  to  define  the  normal  activity  of  the 
mind,  as  it  is  the  function  of  the  will  to 
direct  the  mental  machinery  in  accordance 
therewith.  It  is  possible  to  fortify  the  reason- 
ing  faculty,    as   it   is   possible   to   train   and 

54 


Thinking  55 

strengthen  the  will,  and  it  is  this  considera- 
tion, together  with  the  positive  results  en- 
suing, which  lends  practical  interest  to  the 
subject. 

We  may  think  as  we  will — but  never 
without  results,  and  ignorance  is  no  excuse 
in  the  eyes  of  the  law.  The  mind's  activity 
is  well-nigh  incessant,  yet  its  energy  is  but 
little  directed  with  reference  to  itself  and 
its  own  well-being.  To  one  who  has  recog- 
nised, in  some  degree,  correct  laws  of  thinking, 
and  who  guards  and  cherishes  his  moments, 
such  thinking  becomes  a  resource.  The  profit- 
able reaction  is  the  reward  he  reaps.  But 
over  and  above  any  immediate  returns,  the 
mental  constitution  is  thus  being  insured 
against  the  future;  precisely  as  we  may  say 
that  a  reasonably  simple  and  natural  mode 
of  life,  free  from  dissipation,  fortifies  the 
physical  constitution  against  possible  in- 
roads of  disease.  The  most  available  of 
resources,  the  art  of  mind-building  is  in  no 
wise  a  matter  of  sentiment,  but  a  practical 
affair  to  be  dealt  with  in  the  most  matter-of- 
fact  way. 

Such  mind  as  we  have  is,  as  it  were,  the 
glass  with  which  we  take  cognisance  of  the 
world;  a  glass  whose  focus  is  regulated  by 


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temperament  and  whose  efficiency  depends 
upon  the  degree  of  intelligence.  If  the  lens 
be  out  of  focus,  the  unhappy  observer  neces- 
sarily beholds  a  distorted  world.  The  eye 
itself  does  not  see,  neither  does  the  ear  hear. 
These  are  but  receivers  for  certain  vibra- 
tions which  are  communicated  to  the  brain 
and  there  registered.  The  message,  read 
and  interpreted  as  sensation,  enters  the  stream 
of  consciousness,  to  influence  in  turn  the 
association  of  ideas.  In  the  same  manner 
a  telegraph  key  receives  and  records  mes- 
sages from  the  wires;  but  it  is  the  operator 
who  reads  and  interprets,  while  he  to  whom 
the  message  is  addressed,  undergoes  a  still 
more  complex  mental  reaction. 

In  looking  at  an  object — and  so,  in  ob- 
serving the  world  at  large — we  see  never  the 
thing  in  itself.  If  one  look  at  a  flower,  he 
sees  the  flower  plus  the  content  of  his  own 
mind ;  what  he  knows  is  the  resultant.  What- 
ever task  we  essay,  whatever  study,  it  is 
with  such  mind  and  character  as  we  have,  and 
we  can  do  only  as  well  as  these  permit.  Any 
defect,  as  of  indolence,  of  immorality,  even 
prejudice,  will  be  an  obstacle  to  its  further- 
ance. So,  in  steering  the  course  of  a  single 
day  in  the  ordinary  pursuits  of  life,  defective 


Thinking  57 

thinking  is  a  constant  hindrance  and  leaves 
us  with  headache  and  out  of  our  course. 
Hence  the  significance  of  mind-building  and 
of  habits  of  right  thinking. 

We  feed  the  mind,  not  with  breakfast 
food,  as  the  quacks  would  have  us  believe, 
but  on  thought,  and  the  problem  is,  there- 
fore, to  give  it  that  which  is  nourishing  and 
will  strengthen,  and  not  that  which  may 
poison  and  debilitate. 

The  relation  of  mind  and  body  has  been 
harped  upon  of  late,  until  unfortunately 
enough  the  idea  has  slipped  into  the  sea  of 
platitudes,  where  its  significance  is  lost  to 
any  but  earnest  thinkers.  Yet  at  the  risk 
of  being  platitudinous,  let  us  again  briefly 
consider  this  relation.  Every  thought  has 
a  direct  action  upon  some  part  of  the  body. 
It  may  be  so  slight  as  to  be  inappreciable; 
or,  it  may  be  counterbalanced  by  other 
thought  currents  and  its  effect  rendered  null. 
As  the  surface  of  a  soap-bubble  reflects 
changes  in  the  sky,  so  the  physical  organism 
faithfully  reproduces  mental  changes.  Upon 
consideration,  it  is  as  natural  it  should  do 
so  as  that  the  surface  of  the  lake  should  re- 
flect passing  clouds.  The  illustration  serves 
no  further,  for  the  body,  unlike  the  mobile 


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face  of  the  waters,  may  suffer  change  through 
these  reflections.  Presumably  the  process  is 
as  follows;  the  emotion,  whatever  it  may  be, 
propels  itself  as  a  particular  vibration  from 
a  nerve  centre  to  the  organ  controlled,  and 
influences  the  function  of  that  organ.  If  it 
be  a  healthful  emotion  it  doubtless  stimulates 
and  the  result  is  beneficial.  A  happy  state 
of  mind  certainly  tends  to  increase  the  activity 
of  digestive  and  assimilative  functions,  as- 
sisting them,  if  there  is  no  chronic  condition 
to  interfere,  to  act  normally.  A  dinner  eaten 
under  such  auspicious  circumstances  may 
reasonably  be  expected  to  be  digested  and 
assimilated.  Conversely,  any  negative  emo- 
tion, such  as  fear,  anger,  sorrow,  will  produce 
an  opposite  effect,  and  if  of  sufficient  force 
will  inhibit  the  flow  of  the  gastric  juices  in 
such  a  way  as  to  interfere  with  normal  pro- 
cesses and  produce  indigestion.  Habitual 
indulgence  in  negative  emotions  must  result 
in  continual  interference  with  the  activity  of 
these  organs  and  produce  what  appears  as 
chronic  disease.  Organs  may  thus  become 
temporarily  incapable  of  acting  normally, 
whatever  the  state  of  mind.  At  the  same 
time  restoration  is  possible  and  to  be  expected 
when  the  false  condition .  has  been  replaced 


Thinking  59 

by  true  thinking  and  sufficient  time  has 
elapsed  in  which  to  allow  nature  to  rehabili- 
tate the  past.  Nature  always  works  for 
health,  and  what  is  called  disease  is  as  often 
as  not  merely  her  effort  to  regain  equilibrium. 
Certain  negative  and  false  states  of  mind  may 
be  likened  to  a  tight  shoe,  or  a  cinder  in  the 
eye,  producing  an  irritation  in  some  corre- 
sponding part  of  the  body.  Remove  the 
pressure   and   nature   herself   will   heal. 

In  experimenting  with  animals  by  training 
particular  faculties  in  certain  individuals, 
the  corresponding  brain  areas  in  those  whose 
faculties  have  been  stimulated  are  far  more 
developed  than  in  individuals  not  thus  treated ; 
that  is,  cellular  growth  has  been  produced 
by  taking  thought.  We  are  justified  in  the 
inference  that  any  mental  state,  sufficiently 
indulged,  will  promote  the  growth  of  cells  in 
a  specific  brain- area;  and,  furthermore,  that 
the  brain  will  in  time  function  more  readily 
or  more  powerfully  in  that  direction,  be  it 
normal  or  otherwise.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  speech-centre  is  as  undeveloped  in  the 
brain  of  an  infant  as  in  that  of  an  ape;  the 
human  mind  develops  this  area  and  fits  it 
for  use.  In  the  ape  it  remains  unchanged. 
The  most  significant   revelation   of  psycho- 


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physiology  is  the  fact  that  while  the  sense- 
areas  of  the  brain  are  congenital,  the  "mind"' 
areas  are  acquired.  In  learning  a  new 
language  there  is  a  corresponding  develop- 
ment, and  Broca's  convolution  has  been 
aptly  compared  to  a  shelf  on  which  the  mind 
places  book  after  book  as  it  acquires  know- 
ledge. If  the  cultivation  of  the  aesthetic 
sense,  for  instance,  will  so  influence  the  de- 
velopment of  specific  brain-areas  that  the 
organ  becomes  a  more  efficient  instrument  for 
the  perception  and  expression  of  beauty,  it 
must  be  equally  true  that  a  constant  tendency 
to  fear,  irritability,  or  criticism  also  produces 
an  effect  on  the  brain  which  will  then  respond 
more  readily  to  the  stimulus  of  these  ideas. 
The  converse  is  of  course  true  that  brain 
areas  may  remain  undeveloped  through  in- 
hibition of  those  faculties  which  should 
function  through  them. 

These  hints  will  serve,  perhaps,  to  empha- 
sise the  expediency  of  correct  habits  of 
thought.  Bad  thinking  is  as  much  to  be 
disparaged  as  are  bad  manners.  We  are 
literally  ill-bred  in  this  respect,  for  we  were 
not  taught  as  children  how  to  think,  and 
now  we  must  suffer  the  results  of  this  defec- 
tive training.     While  it  is  quite  possible,  few 


Thinking  61 

overcome  their  ill-bred  thinking;  as  few  ever 
conceal  in  after  life  the  lack  of  breeding. 
Habits  of  thought  tend  to  crystallise  and 
become  fixed,  and  a  little  reflection  and  ob- 
servation show  that  it  is  not  only  the  brain 
that  may  be  affected,  but  the  entire  body  as 
well;  the  expression  of  the  eye,  the  speech, 
the  posture,  the  walk,  all  reveal  modes  of 
thought,  and  from  them  may  be  read  what 
manner  of  man  we  are,  in  spite  of  all  pretences. 

There  are  chronic  states  of  mind  to  which 
all  are  more  or  less  subject.  Some  are  habitu- 
ally genial;  others  irritable  or  morose.  A 
majority  are  monomaniacs — men  of  one  idea; 
in  one  it  is  religion,  in  another  money,  in  a 
third  invalidism.  Some  perpetually  fuss  over 
their  food;  others  over  the  dampness.  Many 
are  the  mere  puppets  of  their  prejudices. 
This  monomania  is  a  slow  hypnosis  wherein 
the  victim  is  self -hypnotised  by  an  unvarying 
current  of  thought — a  constant  suggestion — 
until  the  brain  is  altered  and  the  face  moulded 
by  it.  Money  and  disease  are  the  common 
agents  of  this  hypnosis  to-day,  and  we  have 
more  money  and  more  diseases  than  ever 
before  in  the  history  of  the  world. 

In  this  connection  we  may  consider  the 
reaction   of  beliefs.     To  such   as   are  unac- 


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customed  to  observe  the  working  of  the  mind, 
a  belief  is  quite  as  shadowy  as  a  ghost,  and 
as  little  worthy  of  serious  consideration. 
The  mere  fact,  they  aver,  that  one  believes 
something  will  act  thus  and  so  is  of  no  con- 
sequence. Now  the  truth  is,  it  has  profound 
significance  and  the  point  is  this:  whereas 
the  object  of  belief  may,  or  may  not,  act,  the 
thought  itself  does  react  upon  the  mind  and 
thence  upon  the  body.  A  belief  has  vitality 
and  power  which  it  receives  from  the  will 
and  which  it  relinquishes  once  it  severs  con- 
nection with  feeling.  While  it  may  be  dropped 
from  consciousness,  if  it  has  not  been  negated 
entirely,  it  persists  in  subconsciousness  and 
retains  some  measure  of  influence.  It  may 
be  compared  to  a  parasite,  deriving  nourish- 
ment at  the  expense  of  its  host,  which  may 
so  develop  as  eventually  to  destroy  the  organ- 
ism supporting  it.  False  beliefs  are  truly  the 
parasites  of  the  mind,  sapping  its  vitality 
as  literally  and  as  effectively  as  tropical 
creepers  strangle  their  victims. 

There  are  people  who  think  others  are  plot- 
ting against  them,  and  such  ideas  may  arise 
without  any  foundation  in  fact  and  continue 
until  insanity  ensues;  there  are  others  who  are 
convinced  men   are  all  hypocrites  and  who 


Thinking:  63 


i& 


feed  this  notion  until  they  are  unwilling  to 
admit  and  unable  to  recognise  worthy  mo- 
tives. Such  beliefs  are  cancers  eating  into 
the  mind,  and  the  end  is  despair.  We  find  a 
series  of  religious  beliefs,  though  since  the 
decline  of  Puritan  theology  they  are  much 
less  potent  than  formerly.  The  most  active 
class  of  beliefs  to-day  has  reference  to 
disease  and  hygiene.  With  opinions  of  this 
sort  the  world  has  always  been  afflicted,  and 
those  of  one  generation  are  usually  ridiculous 
to  the  next.  Doubtless  anthropoid  apes  hold 
beliefs  of  their  own,  nor,  perhaps,  do  the 
angels  escape. 

It  appears  that  every  man  is  endowed 
with  his  own  set  of  hygienic  superstitions. 
He  associates  certain  conditions  with  drafts, 
dampness,  and  various  foods  and  drugs,  and 
claims  to  base  his  conclusions  on  experience. 
Others  come  to  precisely  opposite  conclu- 
sions. Every  patent  medicine  has  its  faith- 
ful votaries,  while  no  physician  of  standing 
has  confidence  in  them,  and  recent  investiga- 
tion and  analysis  has  sufficiently  demon- 
strated their  character.  Yet,  in  spite  of  the 
facts,  men  think  these  will  cure;  as  others 
believe  they  will  be  healed  at  Lourdes,  under 
conditions  so  unsanitary  as  to  be  regarded 


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elsewhere  as  productive  of  disease.  Belief  is 
faith  and  faith  may  heal.  Whereas  the  ob- 
ject of  such  faith  varies  with  the  degree  of 
intelligence,  it  is  not  the  object,  but  the  belief 
itself  which  is  the  active  agent.  Hence  be- 
lief in  relics  may  cure,  while  belief  in  a  draft 
may  kill.  If  we  analyse  these  conclusions 
with  reference  to  various  foods,  it  is  invariable 
that  all  other  factors — the  mental  states  in 
particular — are  ignored  and  the  possible  ac- 
tion of  one  dish  is  alone  considered.  Such 
views  are,  in  fact,  not  conclusions  but  preju- 
dices merely.  In  opposition  to  the  common 
opinion,  it  may  be  positively  affirmed  that 
strong  belief  in  the  injurious  action  of  any 
proper  food  is  itself  the  agent  of  such  action. 
It  were  wise  therefore  to  abstain  from  food 
that  has  come  under  the  ban  of  your  thought, 
until  such  time  as  the  belief  has  been  changed 
and  eliminated  from  subconsciousness  as  well. 
That  the  wisdom  of  this  world  is  foolish- 
ness, is  sufficiently  exemplified  in  the  history 
of  medicine.  The  stream  of  futile  decoctions 
that  has  gone  down  the  human  gullet  in  the 
name  of  medicine  has  been  equalled  only  by 
the  torrent  of  fatuous  nonsense  that  has 
uninterruptedly  poured  itself  into  the  credu- 
lous human  mind  in  the  name  of  religion. 


Thinking  65 

The  race,  after  having  been  cupped,  bled, 
blistered,  saturated  with  calomel  and  boneset 
and  its  appendix  removed,  is  now  coming  to 
the  conclusion  that  if  it  will  but  keep  clean, 
avoid  over-eating,  and  take  normal  exercise 
and  sleep,  Nature  will  perhaps  take  care  of 
herself.  But  more  than  this — we  must  see 
to  it  that  we  have  clean  and  well-ordered 
minds. 

How  then  shall  we  think?  Whatsoever 
things  are  profitable,  of  these  surely.  Think 
health  and  not  disease;  think  love  and  not 
malice;  strength  and  not  weakness.  If  you 
cannot  think  these  things,  then  inhibit — shut 
off  the  current  and  do  not  permit  it  to  work 
harm.  Correct  thinking  implies  a  basis  of 
truth  already  brought  into  consciousness, 
upon  which  we  shall  normally  react.  We  as- 
sume this  ethical  stratum  to  subsist  in  the 
race  consciousness,  whether  that  has  been 
moulded  by  the  traditions  of  one  or  another 
of  the  great  religious  or  philosophic  systems. 
We  accept  the  ethics  of  our  race  as  to  doing, 
but  far  less  as  to  thinking.  It  is  to  be  ob- 
served in  this  connection  that  Buddhist 
ethics,  for  instance,  lay  far  more  stress  upon 
right  thinking  than  do  Christian;  and  self- 
control  receives  far  less  attention  from  the 


66  Resources 

Occidental  than  from  the  Oriental  mind, 
eminently  sane  in  this  regard. 

Think  of  others  as  you  would  have  them 
think  of  you,  is  the  transcendental  version 
of  the  Golden  Rule  by  which  consciousness 
should  regulate  itself.  That  is  to  say,  send 
out  the  quality  of  thought  you  wish  to  receive 
in  return — if  for  no  better  than  utilitarian 
reasons — for  the  mind  attracts  to  itself  its 
own  kind.  Money  earns  money;  strength 
gathers  to  itself  strength.  While  the  sun 
shines  upon  the  just  and  the  unjust,  it  is  far 
from  being  the  same  to  both.  Flowers  are 
fairest  to  those  who  love  them;  birds  sing 
to  those  who  have  ears ;  and  the  sun  is  bright- 
est to  such  as  have  sunshine  within.  Very 
exact  is  our  Nemesis.  Atoms  that  we  are, 
crawling  upon  the  surface  of  a  little  whirling 
ball,  itself  utterly  insignificant  in  the  im- 
mensity, yet  are  we  so  guarded  we  cannot 
escape  the  result  of  a  thought. 

Since  this  is  so  eminently  a  practical  sub- 
ject, we  may  perhaps  indulge  without  apol- 
ogy, a  little  pedantry  as  to  methods.  A 
proper  self-control  is  the  basis  of  an  efficient 
use  of  the  faculties,  else  we  get  in  our  own 
way,  stand  in  our  own  light.  It  is  well  to 
remember  when  we  are  disturbed,  that  it  is 


Thinking  67 

not  so  much  the  thing,  as  our  opinion  of  it, 
which  disturbs  us.  We  may  not  be  able  to 
control  the  disturbance  without,  but  we  can 
change  the  opinion  within.  It  is  possible  to 
cultivate  the  habit  of  being  undisturbed. 
If  the  mind  runs  away,  bring  it  back!  Calm- 
ness, forbearance,  patience,  are  simply  habits 
of  mind.  Let  him  who  lacks  these,  put  his 
will  to  work;  set  aside  a  regular  time  for 
this,  as  for  any  study  or  practise,  and  direct 
the  mind  towards  that  which  it  is  desirable 
to  attain.  It  is  perhaps  no  more  difficult 
than  various  acquirements  of  the  studiously 
inclined — the  German  language,  for  example. 
The  mind  persistently  works  under  the 
stimulus  of  auto-suggestion.  Suggest  to  your- 
self that  you  are  strong,  capable,  self-con- 
trolled, and  the  faculties  take  their  cue  from 
this  and  endeavour  to  act  in  accordance.  It 
is  desirable  to  have  on  hand  a  stock  of  funda- 
mental positive  suggestions  of  this  nature, 
upon  which  consciousness  may  wait  in  un- 
occupied moments.  Negative,  weak,  vacil- 
lating people  have  encouraged  the  mind  in  a 
wrong  direction  until  this  has  become  natural 
and  unconscious.  They  have  the  habit  of 
foolishness.  But  every  well-cultivated  mind 
provides  itself  with  a  set  of  ideals  which  are 


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its  guide  posts,  and  so  conspicuous  in  the 
mental  landscape  that  the  faculties  tend  to 
impel  the  ego  toward  them.  They  set  no 
limits  to  the  road  the  aspiring  intellect  is  to 
travel,  but  they  give  direction. 

Any  reflection  on  the  subject  reveals  how 
intimately  thought  is  associated  with  destiny, 
what  a  practical  resource  is  sane  and  whole- 
some thinking.  Present  thoughts  are  the 
seeds  of  future  harmony  or  discord.  Every 
thought  has  its  consequence;  every  day  is 
the  day  of  judgment.  Grim  and  inexorable 
is  this  doctrine  in  the  light  of  our  weakness; 
potential  and  heroic  in  the  hour  of  strength. 


CHAPTER  VI 
WILL 

EQUALLY  a  subject  for  practical  considera- 
tion is  the  will ;  not  in  its  metaphysical, but 
in  its  psychological  and  physiological  bearing. 
Sense  impressions  of  the  outer  world  come 
to  us  through  those  channels  known  col- 
lectively as  the  afferent.  Recording  them- 
selves in  particular  centres,  they  result  in  a 
further  nervous  activity  which  manifests 
itself  as  thought  and  act,  through  the  efferent. 
This  efferent  channel  connects  with  the  envi- 
ronment, and  its  mechanism  is  congenital  and 
purely  automatic.  It  pertains  to  man — the 
vertebrate,  the  mammal;  and  is  the  same  in 
the  baboon.  The  acts  of  the  baboon  are 
reflexive;  he  is  an  afferent  machine.  But 
between  the  afferent  impression  and  the 
efferent  result,  man  may  interpose  another 
factor — the  will — and  in  proportion  as  he 
does  so,  and  that  wisely,  he  is  the  more  man 

and  the  less  monkey.     Now  the  will  is  not 

69 


70  Resources 

ready  made,  like  the  automatic  afferent,  but 
is  subject  to  discipline  and  control,  and, 
like  any  faculty,  grows  with  use.  It  is 
energy,  and  without  it  a  man  could  not  so 
much  as  read  a  book,  though  he  were  other- 
wise qualified. 

Its  relation  to  resources  is  obvious,  for 
the  mind  will  not  acquire,  nor  can  it  over- 
come the  obstacles  to  its  development,  unless 
it  has  the  will  to  do  so.  Equally  direct  is 
its  bearing  upon  life,  for  if  one  know  the 
right  he  must  likewise  have  the  will  to  put 
it  into  practise.  The  world  is  full  of  well- 
meaning  people  who  have  not  the  will  to 
carry  out  their  resolutions;  as  it  is  overrun 
with  men,  the  agent  of  whose  acts  is  the 
afferent  rather  than  the  will.  Titillate  the 
nerve  of  a  headless  frog  and  he  will  kick; 
and  the  habits  of  the  drunkard  and  the  klepto- 
maniac are  almost  as  reflective  and  automatic 
as  the  kick  of  the  frog. 

We  are  the  creatures  of  habit.  Bad  habits 
are  the  result  of  repeatedly  acting  upon 
afferent  impressions  until  a  path  has-been 
formed  and  brain  and  nervous  system  con- 
spire to  send  the  impulse  along  the  beaten 
track,  while  the  ineffective  will  stands  idle 
in  the  background.     We  must  act  from  will, 


Will  71 

rather  than  from  the  afferent.  But  the  will 
itself  is  dependent  upon  reason  for  its  guid- 
ance. Let  a  man  come  to  a  fork  in  the  road 
and  his  choice  is  a  matter  of  reasoning,  but 
he  must  first  will  to  use  his  intelligence,  and 
subsequently  will  to  propel  himself  upon  the 
road  chosen.  The  balanced  mind  is  that  in 
which  the  will  and  the  reason  work  in  har- 
mony. Will  is  force  and  if  it  be  insufficient, 
character  is  weak  in  spite  of  intellect,  and 
love  is  fond  and  foolish.  The  afferent  man 
is  a  puppet  moved  by  the  strings  of  desire 
and  prejudice.  Arouse  his  desire  or  appeal 
to  a  known  prejudice  and  he  acts  in  a  given 
way.  But  character  is  organised  will  and, 
in  strong  characters,  the  impressions  are 
confronted  by  the  stalwart  will,  which  says 
— Command  me  O  Reason  and  I  will  act.  "  I 
can't"  and  "I  will"  are  the  poles  between 
which  lie  all  the  zones  of  character. 

Inasmuch  as  the  purely  "thinking"  areas 
of  the  brain  are  not  congenital  but  are  ac- 
quired, the  will  acting  under  the  stimulus  of 
ideas  is  the  instrument  in  building  that  organ. 
Huxley  has  shown  that  the  brain  of  the 
chimpanzee  and  that  of  the  child  are  practi- 
cally identical.  But  the  growing  man  wills 
to   acquire  language   or  music  and    actually 


72  Resources 

creates  separate  departments  in  his  brain  for 
each  and  every  one.  The  brain  of  the  afferent 
monkey,  on  the  other  hand,  remains  un- 
changed. We  say  the  child  inherits  the  gift 
of  language  or  music  but  he  has  not  inherited 
the  developed  brain,  and  must  himself  create 
these  distinct  areas  through  willing  and  work- 
ing. Just  so  the  will  works  in  us  to  develop 
character,  and  in  so  doing  actually  forms  a 
brain  to  its  own  liking. 

This  modelling  of  the  brain  is  active  only 
during  the  plastic  years.  Then  it  is  we  lay 
the  foundations  of  our  resources.  It  is  then 
we  foster  the  love  of  nature,  of  books,  of 
music,  and  fashion  an  organ  which  shall  serve 
the  lover  of  these  things.  Hence  age  acquires 
no  resources,  and  if  it  has  laid  up  no  treasures 
in  its  youth  it  shall  drink  the  cup  of  bitter- 
ness. But  youth  nowadays  is  forced  into 
the  maelstrom  of  affairs.  It  is  brought  up 
in  the  worship  of  the  golden  calf ;  it  is  taught 
to  weigh  everything  in  the  same  balance, 
and  that  a  false  one.  By  a  shallow  world  it 
is  instructed  that  money  is  the  only  resource, 
and  so  busy  is  it  acquiring  this  that  there  is 
no  time  to  lay  up  the  solid  treasures  of  the 
heart  and  of  the  mind,  which  would  persist 
and  shed  their  glamour  over  life,  long  after 


Will  73 

riches  had  taken  to  themselves  wings.  Sad 
it  is  that  the  best  years,  the  years  when  in- 
terest is  alive  and  the  brain  plastic  to  the 
robust  will,  are  thus  so  often  lost.  Palsied 
age  in  its  easy  chair  hugs  to  itself  its  pes- 
simism and  its  money,  sole  harvest  of  a  life 
of  abnormal  industry,  while  the  newspapers 
cry:  "Ecce  homo!"  Aye!  behold  the  end  of 
the  man. 

Cultivate  resources  then  while  you  may. 
Seek  early  the  acquaintance  of  good  books, 
good  music,  good  men.  Implant  true  ideals, 
and  on  them  the  flowing  years  shall  wait. 
For  you  are  the  fashioner  of  your  own  brain, 
and  if  you  will  you  may  add  book  by  book 
to  the  shelves  of  that  marvellous  library  and 
every  good  book  that  is  added  you  shall  some 
day  take  down  and  read  with  pleasure. 

Since  thought-control  implies  will,  it  is 
that  which  is  to  be  strengthened,  as  the 
athlete  hardens  his  muscle.  This  exercise 
must  be  judicious,  else  we  may  become  will- 
bound,  as  the  gymnast  becomes  muscle-bound, 
and  that  at  the  expense  of  the  heart.  It  is 
the  active  will,  always  amenable  to  reason, 
which  serves  us  in  need,  and  not  self-will  or 
wilfulness.  Above  the  personal,  rests  the 
divine  will,  as  the  sun  overshadows  a  rush- 


74  Resources 

light,  and  every  act  in  accordance  with  reason 
and  love,  has  God  for  a  sponsor ;  while  he  who 
acts  with  a  perverse  motive  opposes  his  will 
to  principle,  and  it  is  not  the  law  which  is 
broken  but  he.  The  only  logical  prayer  is 
that  we  the  personal  should  entirely  reflect 
the  Supreme. 

"The  weakness  of  the  will,"  says  Emerson, 
"begins  when  it  would  be  something  of  it- 
self." And  we  may  add  that  the  strength 
of  the  will  is  in  its  alliance  with  God.  In  our 
opposition  to  truth  we  are  but  an  instrument 
out  of  tune,  a  machine  out  of  gear,  a  discord, 
a  negation;  our  efficiency  is  nil,  our  action 
mal- action.  Force  serves  only  as  it  is  ap- 
plied in  the  right  direction,  and  wilfulness  is 
not  strength.  What  does  it  avail  how  much 
we  do,  if  we  do  the  useless  thing;  how  much 
we  think,  if  we  think  what  is  not  so;  how 
fast  we  run,  if  we  run  in  the  wrong  direction  ? 
Much  of  our  life  is  describing  just  such  little 
circles;  we  arrive  with  great  pains  at  the 
nothingness  we  set  out  from.  No,  if  we 
would  live  to  any  purpose,  we  must  be  in 
harmony  with  that  Wisdom  which  envelops 
us  all,  and  not  ours  but  the  higher  Will  shall 
move  us.  This  is  the  metaphysical  premise 
from  which  are  derived  our  psychological  and 


Will  75 

practical  deductions.  The  old  theology  was 
careful  to  instruct  us  that  disease  and  trial 
and  tribulation — that  everything  undesirable 
in  fact — was  the  will  of  God.  But  rather  is 
it  health  and  sanity  and  peace;  and  in  so  far 
as  we  express  these  are  we  reflecting  the 
divine  purpose. 

The  will  is  sinew  and  muscle  to  the  mind; 
yet  not  of  ourselves  have  we  strength  but  be- 
cause of  the  life  force,  which  comes  we  know 
not  whence,  and  goes  we  know  not  whither. 
We  do  not  sufficiently  reflect  upon  the  value 
of  relaxation  and  surrender.  Great  is  the 
power  of  "I  will!"  but  greater  still — "I  will 
to  be  the  medium  of  the  divine  Will!"  Then 
are  we  not  a  pool,  but  the  sea.  The  virtue 
of  a  window  is  that  it  admits  light,  and  the 
virtue  of  the  will  is  that  it  should  not  obstruct 
but  admit  the  tide  of  power  from  above.  It 
is  a  curious  fact  that  we  will  to  walk  and  we 
grow  tired,  while  we  do  not  will  to  breathe 
and  the  muscles  of  the  diaphragm,  which 
ceaselessly  work,  are  never  fatigued.  In 
waking  hours  we  are  alert  and  keenly  alive 
to  self -protect  ion  and  subject  to  fear;  but  in 
sleep  we  surrender  ourselves  without  fear 
and  are  at  rest.  If  we  stand  in  the  sunshine 
we  do  not  will  to  be  warm  but  the  sun  warms 


76  Resources 

us.  The  proper  use  of  the  will  is  to  place  the 
man  in  the  divine  current,  and  once  there  he 
shall  surrender  himself  and  it  shall  act  through 
him. 

Our  days  are  marred  through  self-will,  in 
the  effort  to  supply  rather  than  to  receive 
the  energy.  Every  emission  of  the  will  is  a 
prayer  and  willing  is  praying.  It  is  not  the 
empty  sky  which  hears,  but  the  will,  like  a 
force  in  the  hands  of  a  child,  whirls  us  this 
way  and  that.  Will  and  ye  shall  receive — 
and  woe  if  ye  have  not  asked  wisely.  Terrible 
is  the  answer  to  some  of  our  prayers.  Let 
one  desire  sensation  and  sensation  he  shall 
have ;  but  it  is  double  faced  and  shows  us  first 
smiling  pleasure,  then  scowling  pain.  Pray- 
ers of  greed,  of  selfishness,  of  vanity,  are  but 
modes  of  thought  of  which  will  is  the  energy. 
They  are  answered,  each  after  its  kind. 
For  that  matter,  living  is  praying  and  too 
commonly  a  vortex  of  nondescript  prayers, 
one  negating  the  other,  with  the  result  a 
poor  average. 

Anything  contrary  to  the  general  good  is 
an  unwise  prayer;  that  is  to  say,  we  pray 
wisely  only  when  the  will  is  one  with  the 
divine  Will.  Petitions  for  personal  advantage 
or    preference    are    empty    and    vain — silly 


Will  77 

archaisms  in  this  age.  The  best  prayer  is  a 
good  clean  life  and  this  forever  attracts  to 
itself  good.  Work  is  the  legitimate  prayer  of 
the  worker — not  wishing  but  willing.  When 
the  heart  is  in  the  work,  when  the  man  puts 
himself  into  it,  there  is  a  steady  emission  of 
the  will  and  his  days  are  days  of  prayer. 
But  if  he  has  not  faith  in  himself,  if  his  work 
is  half  hearted,  his  prayer  shall  be  ineffectual. 
It  is  the  love  of  the  work  which  stimulates 
the  will  to  act  and  without  it  no  good  work 
is  done,  no  great  life  is  lived.  The  problem 
with  the  child  is  not  to  break  but  to  direct 
the  will,  to  convert  wilfulness  into  disci- 
plined energy.  To  him  that  hath  shall  be 
given  inasmuch  as  the  will  is  strengthened 
with  use.  Between  the  man  of  effective  will 
and  man  the  puppet  of  the  afferent,  there  is 
almost  as  wide  a  gulf  as  that  separating  man 
and  the  ape.  The  will  to  succeed  is  as  normal 
as  the  will  to  live,  and  while  it  may  be  per- 
verted through  false  ideals,  it  is  none  the 
less  the  will  which  counts.  Force  we  must 
have,  but  likewise  wisdom  to  direct  it  in  the 
right  paths.  The  world  preaches  a  fictitious 
success  upon  which  the  will  of  the  multitude 
reacts.  He  is  counted  successful  who  has 
laid  up  for  himself  treasures  on  earth;  but 


78  Resources 

rather  does  success  lie  in  cultivating  those 
qualities  of  the  heart,  and  in  acquiring  those 
resources  of  the  intellect,  which  bring  upon 
earth  a  foretaste  of  heaven. 


CHAPTER  VII 
SOCIETY 

DRONSON  ALCOTT'S  idea  of  heaven— as 
*-*  a  place  where  one  might  have  a  little 
conversation — will  appeal  to  cultivated  na- 
tures as  equally  applicable  to  a  true  society. 
All  too  rare  are  these  delectable  hours,  for 
even  when  men  of  the  requisite  parts  meet, 
they  can  only  mingle  under  subtle  conditions, 
not  understood  but  felt,  and  as  evanescent 
and  uncertain  as  inspiration.  There  may  be 
monologues,  lectures,  talk — but  conversation 
is  for  divine  moments  only.  It  takes  place 
between  two  persons ;  and  the  best  company 
is  unconsciously  brought  together  to  that 
end,  while  men  are  drawn  to  their  intellectual 
affinities.  We  know  many  people  that  we 
may  find  one  or  two  with  whom  to  converse; 
have  many  acquaintances  that  we  may  dis- 
cover one  friend.  To  talk  to  the  table  is  to 
incur  the  risk  of  talking  for  effect,  and  con- 
versation is  real,  spontaneous,  and  not  self- 

79 


So  Resources 

conscious.  It  is  the  sudden  union  of  two 
intellects  mutually  inspired  to  a  more  than 
ordinary  expression;  each  arouses  and  com- 
pels the  activity  of  the  other,  as  in  the  union 
of  chemical  elements  having  an  affinity. 

We  pay  for  these  finer  uses  of  society  in 
subjection  to  less  favourable  conditions,  and 
in  the  Spartan  and  salutary  process  of  being 
polished  in  the  mill  of  promiscuous  and  un- 
congenial personalities.  Even  so,  this  is 
worth  while  in  the  discipline  of  our  egotism 
and  conceit.  He  is  an  apt  learner  in  the 
school  of  society  who  has  relinquished  his 
egotism  and  retained  his  individuality.  We 
see  men  who  never  will  be  suppressed — natural 
objectors  and  obstructionists,  men  who  will 
rest  their  blatant  egotism  in  the  grave  and 
not  before;  and  there  are  others  who  have 
been  suppressed  out  of  all  semblance  to  men, 
and  whose  virtue  consists  in  parting  their 
hair  in  the  approved  fashion  and  making 
punctual  dinner  calls — the  sheep  and  asses 
of  society.  There  are  the  windbags,  and  the 
toy  balloons  who  emit  squeaks  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  others ;  the  men  whose  motto  is — 
"I  protest" — argumentative,  combative,  ag- 
gressive bores;  the  heavy  guard  who  wish 
to  be  amused  and  who  never  think ;  the  mono- 


Society  81 

maniacs  and  cranks;  the  haughty,  the  pomp- 
ous, the  stupid,  the  money-bloated  and  the 
empty-headed — and  everywhere,  the  gossips. 
We  admit  that  dinners  and  receptions  are 
a  bore,  and  perfunctory  calls  an  infliction; 
yet  we  go  for  expediency's  sake,  and  for  a 
certain  stimulus  we  feel  to  be  good.  We 
attend  with  hope,  seeking  affinities.  Very 
curious  are  these  subtle  attractions  and  re- 
pulsions experienced  in  the  company  of 
others;  altogether  psychic  are  our  affinities, 
and  not  to  be  explained  by  any  known  laws. 
We  are  not  ourselves  with  this  one  or  that, 
and  more  than  ourselves  with  another.  Every 
new  company  affords  endless  new  combina- 
tions. Adaptability  to  these  is  the  test  of  the 
man  of  the  world;  but  none  the  less,  a  sensi- 
tive man  shall  find  to  the  end  of  his  days  that 
he  is  asphyxiated  in  some  atmospheres  and 
exhilarated  in  others.  That  is  a  good  dinner 
where  the  right  poeple  come  together;  and 
she  is  the  born  hostess  who  can  bring  them  to- 
gether. But  what  is  more  dreary  than  to  be 
among  people  who  do  not  speak  our  language 
and  who  make  it  evident  they  are  expecting 
from  us  anything  but  that  which  we  have  to 
give  ?  We  no  sooner  enter  a  room  than  these 
peculiar  forces  begin  to  play  upon  us.     The 


82  Resources 

pompous  and  the  obtuse  are  not  aware,  but 
rest  assured  more  than  one  beside  yourself 
is  hiding  behind  a  mask  of  hauteur  or  of 
indifference.  Granted  there  may  be  many 
opinions  as  to  what  constitutes  society,  surely 
that  is  most  worth  while  where  we  are  en- 
couraged to  be  ourselves — more  than  our- 
selves, if  you  will — but  never  less.  Adapting 
oneself  to  adverse  conditions  is  doubtless 
good  practice,  and  not  to  be  scorned,  but  as 
a  resource  rather  give  us  an  honest  solitude 
and  the  company  of  our  own  thoughts. 

Society  in  which  everybody  pretends  is 
usual ;  now  and  then  in  history  is  one  in  which 
people  aim  to  be.  Sincerity  is  often  more  in 
evidence  in  the  circles  of  some  Latin  quarter 
than  in  any  Mayfair.  The  difference  is  one 
of  wit  and  also  of  respect  for  values.  The 
vices  of  what  is  called  good  society  are  its 
insincerity,  its  pretension,  its  shallowness. 
It  teaches  us  to  appear,  rather  than  to  be; 
and  it  asks,  not  what  are  you,  but,  who  are 
you,  and  what  is  your  bank  account?  Un- 
stable as  water,  its  standards  change  with 
the  times,  and  it  demands  only  conformity 
to  these,  whatever  they  may  be.  Some 
London  or  Paris  sets  the  fashion  for  our  man- 
ners and  our  thoughts,  as  for  our  clothes,  and 


Society  83 

from  east  to  west,  we  dance,  unmindful  that 
they  who  pull  the  strings  are  the  fops,  the 
reporters,  the  tailors.  Let  the  socialist  con- 
sider and  ponder  the  fact  that  society,  in  this 
general  sense,  is  itself  a  paternalism — none 
more  tyrannous — which  aims  so  to  control  the 
minds  and  hearts  of  its  votaries,  that  they 
shall  be  brought  to  one  level  of  unthinking 
mediocrity,  and  shall  live  and  die  by  its 
foolish  maxims.  To  a  society  in  which  pre- 
tension takes  rank,  we  are  naturally  admitted, 
not  so  much  by  worth  as  by  appearance. 
Character  and  intellect  are  not  so  well  re- 
garded in  such  company  as  savoir  faire  and 
the  capacity  for  small  talk.  Its  members 
live  to  be  amused,  slowly  perishing  of  ennui 
in  spite  of  it. 

In  every  country,  society  is  either  tending 
towards  an  aristocracy  or  recovering  from 
one.  We  in  America  are  as  surely  approach- 
ing, as  England  is  receding  from  it,  but 
unfortunately  it  has  its  roots  with  us  in  an 
age  of  cheap  ideals.  The  age  will  pass,  but 
the  tree  must  grow  from  that  root,  if  at  all, 
and  will  have  sprung  from  that  soil.  The 
elder  aristocracy — now  degenerate — grew  out 
of  heroic  times ;  but  the  younger  will  owe  its 
origin  to  oil  wells  and  steel  plants  and  slaugh- 


84  Resources 

ter  houses,  for  that  which  we  name  plutocracy 
to-day,  is  what  the  heterogenous  posterity 
of  some  future  America  will  call  its  aristocracy. 
The  flood  tide  of  European  pauperdom  is 
upon  us,  and  in  time,  all  that  was  originally 
and  essentially  American  will  be  submerged, 
save  a  few  lone  colonial  and  revolutionary 
rocks,  raising  their  heads  above  a  trackless 
sea. 

It  is  foolish  to  suppose  that  social  caste 
rests  on  nothing  more  substantial  than  pre- 
tension. A  truly  superior  caste  is  such  be- 
cause it  rests  not  indeed  on  pretension  but 
on  fact.  The  only  real  basis  of  aristocratic 
feeling  is  merit,  and  if  merit  has  departed 
then  we  have,  as  it  were,  merely  the  bark 
of  the  tree  standing  erect  in  which  the  heart 
has  decayed.  Equally  foolish  is  it  to  assert 
that  birth  and  breeding  are  not  merit  of  a 
sort — when  men  are  willing  to  pay  extrava- 
gantly for  a  horse,  a  dog,  a  pig,  because  of 
pedigree.  Natural  selection  obtains  among 
mankind  as  among  inferior  animals,  and  the 
selective  process  of  generations  of  well-bred 
men  and  women  cannot  be  without  effect. 
They  of  good  birth  need  make  no  pretences — 
let  them  only  live  up  to  it.  Sincerity,  sim- 
plicity, and  kindly  ease  of  manner  are  the 


Society  85 

best  evidences  of  good  breeding  and  good 
family.  A  drum  makes  a  noise  because  it  is 
hollow ;  and  every  conscious  lack  is  evidenced 
in  the  vulgar  by  a  corresponding  pretension. 
Conventionality  is,  as  often  as  not,  based 
on  good  usage,  and  as  for  the  rest  its  origin 
is  in  traditions  and  the  fear  of  gossips.  We 
are  wise  in  ignoring  it  only  when  we  sub- 
stitute self-reliance  and  a  love  of  truth,  for 
cowardice  and  deference  to  opinion.  A 
charm  there  may  be  in  the  unconventionali- 
ties  of  the  well-bred,  while  the  same  in  the 
under-bred  are  gaucheries.  It  is  a  mistake  to 
suppose,  however,  that  manners  were  handed 
down  with  the  Mosiac  law,  for  they  constantly 
receive  added  touches,  as  the  idiom  incor- 
porates good  words  from  the  argot  of  the 
streets.  They  owe  their  value  and  their 
charm  to  the  man  who  wears  them  as  a 
becoming  garment;  but  very  offensive  are 
the  irreproachable  manners  of  some  insincere 
persons.  Than  sincerity  there  can  be  no 
higher  test  of  breeding,  and  a  lie  is  not  beau- 
tiful, let  it  be  tricked  out  in  ever  so  fine  a 
dress.  Yet  less  offensive  is  a  polite  lie  than 
a  brutal  one — if  lie  it  must  be — and  just 
here  is  the  difference  between  the  Latin  and 
the  Saxon  points  of  view. 


86  Resources 

The  conventionalities  of  society,  like  the 
statutes  of  the  law,  grew  out  of  the  necessity 
of  self-protection.  If  every  one  were  honest 
and  unselfish — what  need  of  laws?  And  if 
humanity  consisted  of  gentlemen  and  gentle- 
women, society  would  wear  a  different  front. 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  afflicted  with  boors  and 
adventurers,  as  the  business  world  is  infested 
with  rascals;  hence  the  majesty  of  law  and 
convention  and  the  evolution  of  gossips  and 
detectives.  Etiquette,  the  world  over,  had 
its  origin  in  fear  of  a  sword-thrust;  the  form 
persists  while  the  reason  is  forgotten.  But 
true  politeness  has  a  valid  basis  and  takes 
its  rise  in  the  natural  kindness  of  the  human 
heart.  We  are  prone  to-day  to  substitute 
bluntness  in  the  name  of  sincerity,  but  when 
the  world  has  ceased  to  be  polite,  not  even 
then  will  it  be  sincere.  Bluntness  itself 
easily  becomes  an  affectation.  The  best 
uses  of  the  best  society  will  always  require 
of  us  that  courtesy  which  is  the  disciplined 
expression  of  considerateness  for  others,  as 
it  will  always  frown  upon  affectation.  When 
we  contrast  society  and  solitude  in  their 
effect  upon  the  individual,  it  is  pre-eminently 
the  former  that  teaches  us  considerateness 
and  tact.     A  polished  gem  is  a  gem  none  the 


Society  87 

less,  and  the  better  for  being  polished. 
Rough  diamonds  there  are  in  every  com- 
munity, but  how  much  better  would  these 
serve  had  they  known  the  wheel  of  the  dia- 
mond cutter.  It  is  true  that  every  sincere 
nature  experiences  some  recoil  from  the 
conventions  of  the  social  world,  as  from  that 
which  is  wholly  artificial  and  trivial.  But 
even  the  society  of  an  Indian  village  has  its 
formalities  and  its  gossip.  Escape  there  is 
none,  save  in  solitude,  and  man  is  not  a 
solitary  but  a  social  animal.  A  Bohemian 
society  merely  substitutes  conventions  of  its 
own  for  the  more  formal  ones  which  it  scorns. 
Perfect  freedom  is  associated  only  with  per- 
fection of  character,  and  the  millennium  is  not 
yet.  The  chief  advantage  of  good  society  is 
in  the  contact  with  men  of  ideas,  of  culture, 
of  experience,  and  this  must  be  weighed 
against  the  disadvantage  of  being  restricted 
by  petty  formalities,  and  measured  by  arti- 
ficial standards.  We  enter  it  as  a  library 
of  the  best  books;  while  the  unprofitable 
society  of  commonplace  persons  is  no  better 
than  a  medium  for  the  circulation  of  cheap 
literature.  It  is  perhaps  only  right  we  should 
pay  more  in  deference  to  convention  for  the 
sake   of   the   society    of    men   worth   while. 


88  Resources 

Hence  the  barriers  which  circles  and  clubs 
erect  about  themselves,  notwithstanding  in 
some  cases  there  may  be  nothing  within — 
a  marble  palace  inhabited  by  mice. 

Men  regard  society,  for  the  most  part,  for 
what  they  can  get  rather  than  as  the  opportun- 
ity of  giving.  It  is  an  occasion  for  display  and 
a  matter  of  prestige.  They  tolerate  it  for 
advantages  of  this  doubtful  character  and 
meet  on  the  common  ground  of  cynicism. 
Charity  there  is  none.  No  wonder  there  are 
those  who  flee  an  institution  so  perverted 
and  prefer  publicans  and  sinners  to  hypo- 
crites and  Pharisees.  Rather  than  the  so- 
ciety of  prigs  and  snobs  give  us  the  refreshing 
company  of  grisettes  and  students,  for  these 
people  have  what  prudes  and  prigs  have 
not — and  that  is  camaraderie.  In  such  an 
atmosphere  the  genial  traits  are  warmed  into 
life,  and  ever  the  gods  love  a  genial  man. 
Approval  sits  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and 
if  egotism  is  too  often  an  unbidden  guest, 
at  least  this  society  is  true  to  that  which 
brought  it  into  existence,  the  spirit  of  fellow- 
ship. Now,  this  is  the  heart  of  social  life, 
if  we  will  put  away  false  standards  and  ask 
what  is  society  in  the  light  of  a  resource. 
In    this    sense    the    Bohemian    world    more 


Society  89 

nearly  fulfils  the  conditions  of  true  society 
than  that  which,  more  sumptuous  in  appear- 
ance, is  often  shallow  and  unfeeling. 

That  is  a  false  social  training  which  would 
make  us  less  generous,  less  unselfish,  less 
kind  than  the  good  heart  in  us  naturally 
prompts.  Fond  delusion!  that  any  should 
exchange  the  sweet  face  of  love  and  humanity 
for  the  cold  mask  of  pride  and  pretence.  If 
our  social  instinct  bids  us  seek  friends  for 
what  they  can  do  for  us  and  makes  self-seeking 
the  motive  of  our  acts,  it  is  a  perverted  one. 
No  man  had  ever  a  true  friend  on  such 
grounds. 

True  society  is  for  expression — as  solitude 
for  thought — for  the  expression  of  all  that 
is  best  in  us,  for  that  which  is  human  and 
true,  no  less  than  that  which  is  brilliant  and 
intellectual.  It  is  the  opportunity  to  place 
our  intellectual  possessions,  our  genial  traits, 
our  talents  at  the  disposal  of  others. 

Be  it  said  that  selfishness  is  more  native 
to  society  than  to  the  individuals  who  com- 
pose it.  The  institution  imposes  its  man- 
dates upon  us  and  we  obey  as  by  a  sort  of 
hypnosis.  Back  of  these  proud  and  scornful 
faces  stands  the  grim  tyrant  whose  poor 
puppets  they   are.     'T  is  not   any   man — for 


90  Resources 

men  are  not  so  bad — but  it  is  the  system, 
the  soulless  institution  which  crushes  when- 
ever it  may.  That  institution,  the  dragon 
of  mythology,  has  drawn  its  slimy  length 
over  the  history  of  the  world.  Though  it 
be  slain  again  and  again,  its  lives  are  count- 
less, for  it  is  nourished  by  human  credulity 
and  human  vanity,  and  just  so  long  as  these 
persist  will  it  live  and  tyrannise.  Let  him 
who  can,  infuse  new  ideals  into  the  world- 
thought,  for  thus  comes  the  slow  regeneration 
of  society  and  the  freedom  of  the  individual. 
First  among  the  privileges  of  social  life 
is  hospitality,  and  nowhere  does  society  more 
openly  declare  its  virtues  and  its  vices  than 
in  the  manner  of  dispensing  it.  Insincerity 
is  written  over  the  door  of  some  houses;  it 
is  stamped  upon  the  walls  and  chokes  us  in 
the  food.  In  such  a  house  there  can  be  no 
true  hospitality,  and  the  guests  depart  to 
criticise  the  dinner  and  abuse  the  host.  A 
man  is  known  by  his  friends,  and  to  the  house 
of  display  come  only  sycophants  and  toadies, 
men  who  practise  what  they  call  diplomacy, 
which  is  the  polite  way  of  getting  something 
for  nothing.  Self-deceivers  all,  who  reckon 
not  on  the  exact  laws  which  mete  to  every 
man  in  accordance  with  what  he  is  and  deduct 


Society  91 

so  much  from  his  character  for  every  insin- 
cerity. But  consider  the  charm  and  the 
satisfaction  of  true  hospitality.  Society  ex- 
ists to  no  higher  end  than  to  yield  opportunity 
for  this,  not  an  exhibition  of  the  family  silver 
and  the  family  pride,  but  that  our  friends 
should  come  and  receive  somewhat  of  our- 
selves, should  be  truly  entertained  by  us, 
lay  aside  their  cares  in  that  genial  hour,  and 
be  made  to  feel  that  some  god  was  present 
at  the  feast.  Hospitality  is  an  atmosphere 
charged  with  ozone  which  exhilarates  above 
any  wine  on  the  table.  One  goes  to  the  head, 
the  other  to  the  heart.  We  expand  in  the 
giving  and  in  the  receiving.  Wine  is  itself 
not  good  cheer  but  the  symbol  only  of  that 
which  is  an  effluence  of  the  human  heart. 
Solitary  drinkers  drink  to  despair.  That  is 
not  therefore  a  real  hospitality  when  only 
the  symbol  is  dispensed.  But  wonderful 
indeed  is  a  little  conversation,  a  little  inspira- 
tion, a  little  forgetfulness  of  the  weary  com- 
monplaces in  a  new  perception  of  beauty,  a 
new  flash  of  the  intellect — wonderful  and 
satisfying  and  rare. 

Social  benefits  are  real  and  therefore  much 
counterfeited.  It  is  worth  while  knowing 
people  who  excel  if  we  can  make  it  worth 


92  Resources 

while  to  them  by  some  excellence  of  our  own. 
We  need  contact  with  men — live  men,  think- 
ing men,  cultivated  men;  we  need  quite  as 
much,  independence  and  self-reliance.  We 
must  not  part  with  our  liberty  in  exchange  for 
all  the  drawing-rooms  of  Europe  and  America. 
Most  men  will  accept  any  company  rather 
than  be  thrown  on  their  own  resources. 
But  cheap  society  is  no  better  than  cheap 
music.  While  we  recognise  the  claims  of 
brotherhood,  we  can,  nevertheless,  have  no 
profitable  society  with  inferior  persons  and 
there  is  no  companionship  with  a  fool. 

Between  the  well-bred  and  the  underbred 
there  is  a  wider  gulf  than  between  Anglo- 
Saxon  and  Hottentot.  They  can  intermingle 
in  appearance  only,  for  the  invisible  barriers 
are  as  walls  of  adamant  and  brass.  Society 
is  knit  together  by  subtle  affinities,  not  to 
be  confounded  with  the  shallow  sophistry  of 
snobs.  It  consists  of  innumerable  cliques, 
each  with  its  open  sesame.  Money,  pre- 
tension, idleness,  will  unlock  some  doors; 
talent,  character,  intellect,  others,  and  the 
world  is  full  of  people  whose  ambition  it  is 
to  open  the  door  for  which  they  have  no  key. 

In  their  effect  upon  character,  society  and 
solitude  are  as  opposite  as  night  and  day. 


Society  93 

Solitude  is  properly  a  state  of  receptivity 
and  self-communion — an  inspiration  from 
within;  society  is,  or  should  be,  the  oppor- 
tunity for  expression  and  an  inspiration  from 
without.  The  cultivated  man  inwardly  re- 
quires the  most  cultured,  the  most  intel- 
lectual social  life  for  which  he  is  qualified. 
It  is  to  him  the  soil  in  which  the  seeds  of 
thought  come  to  fruition.  His  reading,  his 
travel,  his  talent,  his  living  fit  him  for  this. 
People  are  to  us  an  inspiration  or  a  dis- 
couragement; contact  with  them  is  fraught 
with  suggestion,  with  influences,  with  hyp- 
nosis in  fact.  It  may  uplift,  it  may  debase. 
The  whims  and  foibles,  the  virtues  and  vices 
of  men  are  contagious.  Society  is  never 
wholly  virtuous  or  wholly  vicious,  but  always 
it  is  diseased  with  beliefs.  Have  a  care  then, 
for  these  are  infections.  Its  besetting  sins 
are  criticism  and  conformity.  In  the  woods 
a  man  grows  tolerant  and  kind  and  dogmas 
fall  away  from  him,  but  in  the  world  he  in- 
hales them  with  the  air  he  breathes.  How 
shall  he  find  himself  in  society ;  how  maintain 
his  poise  in  the  whirlpool  of  beliefs,  the  tor- 
rent of  suggestions;  how  best  withstand  the 
hypnosis  of  other  minds  ?  Surely  he  must  be 
wise  as  the  serpent  and  harmless  as  the  dove. 


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lie  shall  stand  firmly  on  his  feet  and  look  the 
world  squarely  in  the  face.  Let  him  be 
open  to  influences  from  above  and  by  his 
attitude  of  mind  ever  invite  the  highest  good 
only.  Eternal  vigilance  is  the  price  of  free- 
dom. He  must  be  that  which  he  would 
attract  and  above  all  things  be  strong. 

To  come'  into  sincere  relations  with  men 
and  women  is  seldom  easy  and  always  profit- 
able. They  are  better  than  they  seem — if 
only  we  can  get  at  the  real  in  them.  While 
the  Soul  bids  us  be  simple  and  true,  the  in- 
stitution we  call  society  beguiles  us  to  hypo- 
crisy and  vanity  But  only  as  we  are  true, 
only  as  we  forsake  appearances  and  live  to 
beauty,  may  we  hope  for  any  society  that 
will  be  to  us  a  solace — the  society  of  real 
men  and  women  and  not  of  mere  phantoms 
moving  in  a  vain  show. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
SOLITUDE 

ONLY  in  our  best  moments  are  we  fit 
for  solitude,  for  it  searches  the  heart. 
Face  to  face  with  ourselves,  not  every  hour 
of  our  life  will  bear  that  scrutiny,  for  our 
unbridled  thoughts  may  crowd  and  elbow 
us  quite  as  persistently  and  as  disagreeably 
as  any  ruffian  mob.  While  in  true  solitude 
the  mind  is  undisturbed  by  the  thoughts  of 
other  minds,  all  the  more  must  it  be  in  har- 
mony within  itself  and  tranquil.  So  that  we 
have  many  attempts  at  solitude,  as  we  have 
many  efforts  at  conversation,  while  only  now 
and  then  do  we  arrive  at  either.  To  be  sure, 
one  may  deem  it  solitude  merely  to  be  alone, 
and  yet  this  may  amount  to  no  more  than 
loneliness,  which  is  far  from  that  solitude  we 
are  to  consider  in  the  light  of  a  resource. 

To  shallow  and  vapid  persons  it  is  dismal 
enough  to  thus  encounter  themselves  and 
to  be  left  to  their  own  society.     To  them,  it 

95 


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is  loneliness  and  nothing  more.  If  one  is 
irritable  or  dull,  it  is  as  much  a  bore  to  be 
alone  as  to  be  with  any  other  peevish  or 
stupid  person.  Fewer  men  are  fit  for  soli- 
tude than  for  society;  for  man  is  gregarious, 
and  moreover  lives  largely  from  without, 
rather  than  from  within — that  is  to  say,  in 
that  class  of  ideas  which  are  engendered  di 
rectly  by  contact  with  the  outer  world. 
Solitude  is  after  all  but  another  kind  of 
society,  the  most  exclusive  in  fact,  for  which 
the  qualifications  are  of  a  rarer  sort,  a  certain 
delicacy  of  perception  and  of  sensibility,  the 
religious  and  contemplative  habit,  and  with 
this  a  sturdy  self-reliance.  It  is  thus  the 
poets  and  philosophers,  rather  than  the  eaters 
and  drinkers,  who  are  qualified  for  this  inner 
circle,  which  in  place  of  being  isolation  or 
loneliness  is  companionship  with  nature  and 
communion  with  God. 

It  is  in  solitude  that  we  are  more  likely  to 
find  ourselves ;  and  people,  for  the  most  part, 
are  not  sufficiently  alone.  They  have  too 
much  cheap  and  unprofitable  association  and 
far  too  little  of  the  regenerating  society  of 
birds  and  flowers,  of  mountain  streams,  and 
of  their  own  best  thoughts.  Society  stimu- 
lates us  to  effort  and  ambition;  it  is  impreg- 


Solitude  97 

nated  with  the  spirit  of  competition,  social, 
commercial,  literary,  moral  and  immoral. 
Solitude  incites  us  only  to  be  simple  and 
true  and  to  walk  with  God.  It  is  interesting 
to  observe  to  what  an  extent  this  is  dwelt 
upon  in  Vedic  literature,  how  constant  is 
the  admonition  to  avoid  assemblies  and  the 
haunts  of  men  and  to  sit  alone,  that  we  may 
be  divested  of  the  world-thought  and  more 
readily  invite  the  Spirit.  Better  it  is,  they 
aver,  to  wander  like  a  lonely  elephant  than 
to  have  much  association  with  men.  The 
same  extreme  view,  inspired  by  a  far  less 
profound  perception,  gave  rise  in  Europe  to 
the  monastery  and  the  convent.  In  the  East 
it  had  its  roots  in  metaphysics,  while  in  the 
West  it  arose  from  a  more  or  less  emotional 
phase  of  religion. 

In  any  case  the  necessity  for  a  certain 
amount  of  solitude  has  an  earnest  advocate 
in  psychology,  because  of  the  freedom  it 
offers  from  the  directly  impinging  thought 
of  other  minds.  The  ancient  sages  no  doubt 
had  this  in  view,  for  they  were  well  versed 
in  those  conditions  under  which  the  per- 
ception of  truth  is  stimulated  or  inhibited. 
They  sought  not  knowledge,  but  wisdom,  and 
this  comes  in  gleams  and  flashes  in  the  silence, 


98  Resources 

while  its  faint  spark  is  all  too  easily  extin- 
guished by  the  opinions  and  arguments  of 
the  ignorant,  the  sceptical,  and  the  worldly. 
They  saw  truly  that  if  one  would  keep  the 
vision,  he  must  walk  alone;  that  when  most 
detached  from  the  world-thought,  the  mind 
is  more  receptive  to  the  message  of  the  inner 
voice.  Quite  apart  from  this  is  the  purely 
psychological  reason  of  relief  from  self-con- 
sciousness which  comes  when  we  are  alone 
and  unobserved, — a  certain  relaxation  of  the 
will  which  is  restfulness ;  while  in  the  company 
of  most  people,  and  all  the  more  with  the 
uncongenial,  there  is  tension.  Solitude  is, 
therefore,  in  a  sense  rest,  as  society  is  effort; 
while  it  may  happen  in  this  mental  relaxation 
that  the  spiritual  faculties  come  more  into 
play.  We  go  into  the  woods  in  our  old 
clothes  and  in  a  comfortable  frame  of  mind — 
and  a  blessed  relief  it  is ;  but  we  dress  for  the 
world  and  we  are  mentally  on  the  defensive. 
Few  free  themselves  altogether  from  the 
taint  of  self-consciousness.  We  are  apt  to 
be  over  personal  in  society,  and  the  attitude 
of  mind  is  not  infrequently :  What  are  people 
thinking  of  me?  In  solitude  we  are  more 
easily  impersonal,  and,  in  our  best  moods, 
self-consciousness  is  insensibly  replaced  by  a 


i 


Solitude  99 

deeper  consciousness,  while  there  is  nothing 
externally  to  stimulate  vanity.  Thus  relief 
from  tension  may  also  be  experienced  in 
foreign  places  with  whose  language  and  cus- 
toms we  are  unfamiliar.  There  is  a  delightful 
sense  of  aloofness,  a  feeling  of  disassociation 
from  the  world  in  which  we  find  ourselves, 
so  that  we  are  observers  merely,  with  no 
burden  of  responsibility;  and  it  is  sometimes 
a  mistake  to  dispel  the  charm — ephemeral 
at  best — by  taking  letters  to  people.  It  is  so 
agreeable  to  be  absolutely  apart  from  the 
world  and  yet  to  view  it  meanwhile  with 
keen  interest,  like  a  spirit  from  another  star 
haunting  this  planet  for  entertainment  and 
invisible  to  its  inhabitants.  A  phase  of 
solitude,  it  passes  when  we  come  suddenly 
in  contact  with  some  of  our  own  kind  again. 
Instantly  the  wings  of  freedom  are  clipped, 
and  one  may  be  excused  for  running  away 
from  such  encounters.  This  is  one  value  of 
city  life  again,  that  we  may  remain  unknown, 
if  we  wish,  to  our  next-door  neighbours ;  may 
at  will  be  lost  in  the  crowd.  Whereas  in  the 
village  and  the  town  we  cannot  so  much  as 
turn  around  but  the  community  is  aware  of  it. 
To  wish  to  be  alone  part  of  the  time  is  as 
natural  to  us  as  modesty;  and  its  fulfilment 


ioo  Resources 

as  necessary  as  sleep.  The  exigencies  of  our 
life  cause  us  to  herd  together  in  cities;  to 
live  in  noisy  rookeries  called  flats;  to  be 
crowded  in  cars  like  cattle  driven  to  the 
slaughter.  A  survival  of  the  robust, 
the  coarse,  but  not  necessarily  of  the  fit  is 
the  result.  We  shove  and  elbow  our  way — 
but  into  no  garden  of  delight,  surely.  One  is 
fitted  by  the  process  to  cope  with  that  which 
is  more  or  less  degrading  to  the  finer  in- 
stincts, and  may  amount  to  relinquishing  in 
self-protection  that  which  is  better  for  that 
which  is  worse.  It  is  a  coarsening  process 
and  a  strengthening  one,  but  it  strengthens 
to  meet  those  very  conditions  which  sensitive 
and  beautiful  natures  would  avoid.  Such 
natures,  dipping  perforce  in  the  sea  of  com- 
mon-place thought,  as  horses  are  washed  in 
the  same  pool,  pine  for  the  desert  and  the 
wilderness.  It  is  not  the  rich  who  feel  this, 
for  money  buys  privacy  in  the  city,  whereas 
in  the  woods  it  is  to  be  had  for  nothing. 
"Room  for  me!"  demands  the  pasture  oak, 
"that  I  may  expand  and  live  my  own  life"  ; 
and  any  man  who  has  in  him  the  heart  of 
the  oak  shall  rise  out  of  his  environment, 
shall  be  solitary  if  he  will  and  when  he  will, 
and  shall  live  his  own  life. 


Solitude  ioi 

It  is  a  curious  study  in  influences,  for 
while  solitude  fosters  the  finer  feelings,  we 
do  not  find  that  farmers,  herders,  and  ranch- 
men are  poets  and  prophets  in  any  degree; 
while  from  the  city's  swarm  arises  now  and 
then  some  rare  soul,  as  an  orchid  from  the 
mud  of  the  swamp. 

First  is  the  man  and  then  the  environ- 
ment, and  all  the  adverse  conditions  of  a 
selfish  and  gregarious  world  fall  away  before 
the  might  of  an  advancing  and  resolute  will. 
It  is  the  man  always;  and  if  in  himself  he 
be  a  magnet,  the  good  of  solitude  and  of 
society  flow  to  him,  for  wherever  he  is  planted, 
his  roots  reach  down  and  extract  nourish- 
ment from  the  soil,  his  branches  grow  upward 
and  attract  the  dews  of  heaven.  If  solitude 
best  suit  his  purpose,  he  shall  create  for  him- 
self the  conditions  he  requires.  To  the  as- 
piring will,  obstacles  but  feed  the  flame  of  its 
power;  while  upon  the  bowed  backs  of  the 
weak,  the  very  heavens  rest  like  a  pall  and 
wherever  they  look  they  see  only  mountains 
of  difficulty.  The  battle  is  to  the  strong, 
and  it  may  be  that  in  love,  in  truth,  in  the 
delicate  perceptions  of  the  poet  and  the  sane 
and  wholesome  view  of  the  philosopher,  is 
the    real    strength.     For   which    is    stronger, 


102  Resources 

the  granite,  or  the  water  which  drop  by  drop 
wears  it  away? 

Jesus  was  solitary,  Gautama,  Emerson,  and 
every  great  and  wise  soul  that  has  come  into 
the  world.  The  thought  of  many  a  poet, 
a  fine  fabric  of  the  mind  woven  in  the  quiet  of 
the  hills,  holds  some  glint  of  his  vision — "  the 
splendour  in  the  grass,  the  glory  of  the 
flower."  Of  all  who  have  assayed  to  inter- 
pret the  character  of  Jesus,  Renan  alone  has 
appreciated  the  influence  of  nature  upon  that 
tremendous  personality.  The  desolate  beauty 
of  the  Syrian  landscape  was  matched  by  the 
isolated  grandeur  of  the  man — the  most  soli- 
tary in  history;  and  it  surely  is  evident  that 
he  derived  much  of  his  inspiration  from  the 
solitude  into  which  he  withdrew  to  meditate 
upon  his  beautiful  kingdom  of  heaven. 

No  man  of  feeling  can  go  alone  into  the 
desert  and  not  come  under  the  spell  of  that 
mystic  presence  luring  him  in  the  silence  into 
the  abyss  of  consciousness.  Out  of  the  desert 
have  come  prophets  and  seers,  as  from  another 
world ;  in  the  wonderful  desert  they  saw  what 
no  eye  has  seen.  How  many  have  gone  mad 
in  that  barren  waste  who  can  say?  Violet 
and  orange  and  ethereal  blue,  a  vision  of 
pearl  and  of  opal,  it  lures  with  its  marvellous 


Solitude  103 

distance,  its  beautiful  desolation,  ever  and 
ever  away  from  the  fading  world  into  mys- 
tery and  dream.  The  bed  of  a  vanished 
ocean,  the  desert  is  haunted  still  by  the 
brooding  spirit  of  the  ancient  sea  in  the  si- 
lence which  has  never  been  broken.  What  is 
the  world  to  a  man  here;  whither  should  he 
go  and  why  ?  He  shall  not  think  of  time  but 
of  eternity.  He  shall  not  walk  with  men 
but  with  the  great  God  of  the  desert;  and 
out  of  the  silence  there  descends  upon  him, 
little  by  little,  as  the  soft  light  falls  upon  the 
burning  sands,  the  mysterious  mantle  of 
oblivion.  A  seeming  phantom  in  a  phantom 
world,  yet  shall  he  behold  the  real;  for  even 
there,  severed  from  all  the  world  knows  or 
follows,  he  finds  himself  face  to  face  with  the 
moral  order.  His  heart  prompts  to  good, 
as  gravity  inheres  in  the  stones  of  the  desert. 
He  shall  know  remorse,  he  shall  know  pity, 
though  only  the  wandering  jackal  pass.  Not 
in  the  uttermost  parts  of  space  shall  a  man 
escape  himself ;  but  in  solitude,  if  so  he  will, 
he  may  the  more  readily  find  his  centre. 

This  finding  oneself  is  the  spiritual  ad- 
justment to  life,  and  you  may  readily  tell 
in  an  hour's  conversation  if  a  man  has  ac- 
complished it,  or  if  he  still  lives  in  a  desultory 


104  Resources 

and  superficial  way.  No  amount  of  outward 
pretension  will  atone  for  an  inner  poverty. 
Barren  is  that  nature,  and  sounding  brass, 
the  speech  of  him  who  has  no  inner  life.  If 
a  man  has  found  himself,  you  shall  know  it 
by  his  self-trust,  his  poise,  his  strength.  No 
reed  shaken  by  the  wind  is  he,  but  an  oak 
of  the  forest.  "Trust  thyself"  is  the  motto 
of  all  who  live  from  within.  Trust  thyself 
and  dare  to  be  a  man,  for  all  that  society 
would  have  you  a  well-behaved  monkey. 
"I  am!"  "I  will!"  Thus  saith  the  Lord  in 
His  temple  of  the  inner  life,  and  the  earth 
keeps  silence.  Who  worships  in  that  temple 
comes  forth  renewed  and  runs  to  meet  the 
world  as  a  strong  man.  From  within  he 
derives  his  strength,  his  faith,  his  wisdom. 
And  no  greater  possession  has  any  man,  than 
the  key  of  the  inner  life. 

It  is  in  tranquillity  that  we  come  to  our- 
selves, if  at  all;  it  is  in  tranquillity  that  the 
mind  may  settle  itself  in  wisdom  and  we 
experience  the  quiet  joy  of  the  spirit.  In 
the  forest  as  in  the  desert  there  is  little  to 
distract,  and  the  afferent  currents  are  in 
abeyance.  The  whispering  wind,  the  flight 
of  a  bird,  are  the  only  messages  of  the  eye 
and  ear.     The  mind  divests  itself  of  the  arti- 


Solitude  105 

ficial,  as  one  puts  off  a  garment,  and  life  is 
reduced  to  simple  terms.  No  external  stim- 
uli, like  tempests,  disturb  it  now  with  desire 
and  again  with  aversion;  and  it  comes  to 
rest  in  itself.  It  is  the  difference  between  the 
ruffled  surface  of  the  lake  and  the  still  depths 
below.  In  the  unbroken  solitude  we  listen 
and  grow  calm,  and  self-contained.  That 
seems  trivial  which  so  disturbed  us  in  the 
town;  our  possessions  were  toys;  our  aims 
childish.  There  are  no  false  standards ;  critics 
and  judges  are  there  none,  and  in  silence  we 
sit  in  judgment  upon  ourselves. 

One  is  drawn  to  solitude  and  another  to 
society  as  naturally  as  some  take  to  the  desk 
and  others  to  the  easel.  It  is  to  the  poet 
that  solitude  yields  the  more  exquisite  and 
evanescent  impressions.  It  played  upon  the 
gentle  soul  of  Keats  and  moved  him  to  that 
Orphean  strain  as  rarely  beautiful  as  a  bird 
voice  in  the  wilderness.  It  touched  the  free 
spirit  of  Shelley,  and  in  his  song  are  the  moan- 
ing wind,  the  laughing  waters,  and  the  sob  of 
a  restless  sea.  Somewhat  birdlike  indeed  are 
all  sweet  singers.  They  have  a  kinship  with 
the  shy  blossoms  of  the  woods,  a  sort  of  syl- 
van consciousness,  so  that  they  voice  nature 
and  solitude,  and  seem  the  very  spirits  of  the 


106  Resources 

air.  They  have  sunbeams  and  raindrops  in 
their  thoughts.  They  skim  with  the  swallow, 
dart  with  the  trout,  and  soar  with  the  eagle. 
With  autumn  leaves  they  float  upon  the 
ponds.  They  slide  on  the  moonbeams  and 
vanish  in  the  dusk  with  the  shadowy  owl. 
Solitude,  to  such  as  they,  is  ever  sweet,  is 
ever  companionable.  For  then  whispers  the 
wind,  the  leaves  dance,  the  waters  sparkle 
and  laugh.  They  are  not  aliens  in  nature 
but  wondering  children  with  outstretched 
hands  and  open  eyes. 

Solitude,  itself  a  resource,  is  at  the  same 
time  the  supreme  test  of  all  resources — that 
is  to  say  of  our  self -trust.  An  assumed  love 
of  nature  serves  ill  in  the  woods;  a  fad  is 
a  poor  solace.  Alone  in  the  mountains,  we 
stand  or  fall  by  what  we  are;  we  do  not  de- 
ceive ourselves,  much  less  God  within  us. 
Nature  yields  us  according  to  our  capacity 
— no  more,  no  less.  Our  money,  our  pride, — 
our  very  learning  if  it  be  not  of  the  heart 
and  part  of  us, — are  so  many  encumbrances. 
On  the  desert,  in  the  forest,  in  the  study, 
there  stands  the  angel  of  solitude  and  reads 
the  heart  as  an  open  book. 


CHAPTER   IX 

NATURE 

IN  normal  opposition  to  the  common  and 
utilitarian  view,  which  regards  nature  as 
merely  a  field  to  be  exploited  for  the  physical 
well-being  of  man,  the  poet's  relation  to 
nature  is  largely  subjective  and  no  more  a 
matter  of  physics  and  chemistry  than  of 
bread  and  coal.  Each  has  its  basis  in  neces- 
sity. For  the  intellectual  man  is  as  readily 
nourished  by  beauty  as  the  physical  man  by 
bread,  and  equally  pines  for  lack  of  it.  To 
the  true  naturalist,  as  to  the  poet,  the  rela- 
tion to  nature  is  a  relation  of  love,  a  passion 
ardent  but  unworldly.  In  him  it  is  supple- 
mented by  science,  which  is  itself  funda- 
mentally the  love  of  truth.  In  both  it  is  love 
which  draws  them  to  nature;  in  both  the 
relation  is  in  a  sense  religion. 

Nature  in  itself  we  do  not  know,  any  more 
than  we  know  matter  per  se.     What  we  do 

know  is  always  the  objective  world  plus  our 

107 


108  Resources 

subjective  states.  Hence  it  comes  that  we 
see  ourselves  in  nature,  and  none,  unless  it 
be  the  Yogis  of  the  East,  even  approximately 
extricate  themselves.  Sunset  and  moonlight, 
as  we  know  them,  are  as  much  in  us  as  in  the 
heavens ;  within,  a  limitless  expanse  of  ocean, 
sounding  its  ceaseless  lament  upon  unknown 
shores,  corresponds  to  that  vast  primordial 
sea  without.  When  we  stroll  upon  the  beach 
and  hear  the  dynamic  music  of  the  surf,  it 
is  the  inner  harmony  as  well  to  which  we 
listen,  and  the  inner  expanse  of  desolation 
or  of  opalescent  beauty  which  we  behold. 
This  interrelation  may  be  so  one-sided,  as  in 
melancholia,  that  the  outer  world  is  practi- 
cally nil,  and  the  man  reads  only  his  own  mood 
draping  the  skies  and  hears  his  own  lament  in 
wind  and  water.  To  a  normal  view  it  is 
rather  the  province  of  the  outer  world  to 
take  us  out  of  ourselves,  to  stimulate  us  to 
sane  and  wholesome  thought,  while  in  the 
reflective  mind  it  must  ever  provoke  the  sense 
of  wonder. 

Man's  relation  to  nature  is  given  a  pecu- 
liarly intimate  significance  when  we  reflect 
upon  the  accepted  theory  of  evolution  and 
of  that  transmission  of  tendencies,  which  it 
implies.     In   us   are   the   inherited   traits   of 


Nature  109 

a  million  million  human  ancestors,  and  back 
of  them  the  ancestral  subhuman  legions. 
In  us  sleep,  not  alone  the  memories  of  this 
life,  but  of  extinct  races  who  also  were  of 
few  days.  What  remote  psychic  influences 
descend  into  the  mind  of  man,  frought  with 
what  race  memories  in  virtue  of  his  immense 
inheritance  from  the  past,  who  can  say  ?  The 
bond  has  never  been  severed  which  connects 
the  cultivated  man  back  through  the  ages 
with  the  savage  of  the  wilderness.  As  the 
human  embryo  during  its  development  exactly 
resembles,  at  one  stage  or  another,  that  of 
various  of  the  lower  animals,  so  have  we  in 
us  traces,  thinly  veiled,  not  only  of  the  savage, 
but  of  bear  and  fox,  hawk  and  serpent.  Our 
inheritance  is  not  alone  from  an  Age  of  Stone 
and  an  Age  of  Bronze;  not  alone  from  the 
Classic,  the  Mediaeval,  the  Renaissance,  but 
from  the  Silurian  and  the  Devonian,  from 
Jurassic  and  Triassic  as  well.  Little  wonder 
then  we  pay  some  tithe  in  our  thought  to  that 
spirit  of  sadness,  that  weltschmerz,  which 
forever  broods  over  the  created  world.  Little 
wonder  the  bluebird's  warble  sinks  into  the 
abyss  of  feeling ;  that  the  sunset  lures  to  some 
beyond,  along  a  path  where  colour  in  place 
of  sound  is  a  majestic  minor  harmony;  that 


no 


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the  restless  sea  sounds  in  us  a  chord  deeper 
than  thought. 

While  we  explore  nature  then,  we  in  some 
degree  explore  the  recesses  of  our  being,  and 
much  of  the  best  thought  of  all  times  has 
been  inspired  by  this  reaction  of  the  mind 
upon  natural  phenomena.  What  transcend- 
ant  ideals  do  we  not  owe  to  the  mountains 
and  the  sea,  what  sane  healthy  thought  to 
contact  with  the  woods  and  fields;  and  how 
are  the  gentler  traits  of  human  nature  for- 
ever encouraged  in  a  hard  world  by  the  pres- 
ence of  birds  and  flowers  In  a  climate 
such  as  ours,  the  emotional  reaction  is  more 
subtle,  as  well  as  more  complex  than  in  a 
tropical  or  subtropical  zone,  by  reason  of 
the  contrasts  which  the  seasons  afford,  the 
particular  charm  attached  to  each,  and  the 
infinite  gradations  of  feeling  that  these  inspire. 
Winter  with  its  cold  and  glittering  aspect, 
spring  so  full  of  promise,  summer  languid  and 
quiescent,  and  the  mystic  dreamy  days  of 
autumn,  each  invoke  moods  of  their  own. 
Rich  in  feeling,  the  North  encourages  poesy 
as  the  desert  breeds  mystics. 

To  the  receptive  mind,  nature  is  in  herself 
a  perpetual  invitation,  and  to  such  she  is  the 
unfailing  resource.     But  she  is  an  exacting 


Nature  1 1 1 

mistress,  and  you  must  give  your  whole  heart. 
Approach  without  love  and  she  is  stone.  We 
shall  only  see  that  to  which  we  are  awake, 
and  the  key  to  this  receptivity  is  love  always. 
You  may  laugh  at  magic  if  you  will,  but  the 
wise  know  full  well  that  the  world  is  under 
a  spell,  and  nature  guards  by  a  mysterious 
power  her  secrets  from  the  vulgar  and  obtuse. 
The  old  tales  of  enchantment  had  their  origin 
in  the  verities  of  philosophy.  You  may  enter 
the  Garden  of  Delight,  but  if  you  are  not  of 
the  faithful  it  shall  mock  you  with  apparent 
desolation. 

You  may  be  versed  in  the  science  of  orni- 
thology and  yet  not  know  the  birds,  a  sys- 
tematic botanist  and  not  love  the  flowers; 
just  so  you  may  have  studied  the  anatomy 
and  psychology  of  man  and  still  lack  a 
friend.  Nature  is  to  us  pre-eminently  a 
resource  in  the  sense  of  companionship; 
equally  with  our  friend  does  she  demand  of 
us  love  and  attention,  and  abundantly  will 
she  bestow  in  return.  We  shall  first  open 
our  hearts,  for  with  love  is  always  interest, 
and  attention  follows.  The  process  is  itself 
transcendental  and  refutes  all  purely  me- 
chanical theories  of  psychology.  It  is  the 
profound  appeal  Earth  makes  to  her  children. 


n2  Resources 

We  are  travellers  in  nature,  and  the  un- 
prepared see  little,  the  uninterested  less. 
Most  men  are  too  preoccupied  with  affairs; 
the  hum  of  trade  is  so  loud  in  their  ears 
they  cannot  hear  the  gentle  voices  of  the 
woods.  This  is  more  to  be  deplored  inas- 
much as  the  capacity  for  appreciation,  even 
the  ability  to  hear,  grows  less  and  less  and 
may  perish  for  lack  of  use.  So  is  lost  the 
cardinal  resource,  and  no  character  can  suffer 
this  and  not  be  impoverished.  The  love  of 
nature  is  normal  to  mankind  and  it  is  through 
lack  of  cultivation,  as  well  as  through  subse- 
quent absorption  in  the  affairs  of  the  world, 
that  men  become  indifferent ;  while  that  which 
might  have  been  a  protecting  tree,  is  no 
more  than  a  stunted  shrub. 

Soothing  to  the  heart  is  the  sense  of  com- 
panionship in  nature;  the  trees  whisper,  the 
waters  npple  and  smile,  and  the  mountains 
lift  our  dull  thoughts  to  their  level.  It  would 
seem  almost  as  if  these  conspired  together  to 
lead  us  out  of  our  self-consciousness  into  some 
beautiful  world ;  and  which  is  the  reality,  let 
him  prove  to  himself  who  can.  The  woods 
are  a  refuge  where  thought  that  has  hid- 
den from  the  glare  of  the  world,  as  naturally 
unfolds  as  do  those  exquisite  wood  flowers 


Nature  113 

which  shun  the  roadside  and  the  pastures. 
Wood  birds,  especially  the  thrushes,  are 
more  serious  and  solitary,  and  more  spiritual 
in  their  songs,  than  the  worldlings  of  the 
fields,  as  if  this  cloistered  influence  were 
altogether  congenial  to  their  temperament. 
Life  in  the  woods  is  unobtrusive,  shy,  and 
without  pretence.  It  maintains  itself  by 
concealment.  The  moth  folds  its  wings  and 
is  one  with  the  bark  on  which  it  rests;  the 
partridge  chick  squats  upon  a  leaf  and  is  lost 
to  view.  Wherever  we  go  we  are  watched 
by  countless  unblinking  eyes,  themselves 
unseen. 

Equally  strong  in  the  wilderness  is  the 
suggestion  of  primitive  savagery,  which  is 
drum  and  fife  to  the  timid  ear.  It  is  as 
masterful  and  virile  as  the  other  is  gentle 
and  feminine.  This  robust  strain  in  nature 
is  the  tonic  of  which  an  effeminate  society 
stands  in  need,  quite  as  much  as  of  that 
larger  perception  of  beauty  fostered  by  gentler 
aspects.  It  stimulates  vigorous  thought;  we 
shall  think  like  men  and  savages  in  the  forest. 
We  shall  feel  the  single  drop  of  aboriginal 
blood  tingle  in  the  veins ;  grow  dextrous  with 
axe  and  rod;  eat  and  sleep  as  the  Indian, 
and  be  as  silent  as  he.     The  world  becomes 


ii4  Resources 

remote,  its  manners  and  customs  of  little 
moment,  its  cares  and  worries  forgotten. 
A  wholesome  reversion  this,  if  it  do  not  pro- 
ceed too  far.  In  the  surrender  to  the  wild, 
the  simple  and  natural  gradually  asserts 
itself,  and  we  come  to  a  new  point  of  view  and 
see  how  artificial  our  life  has  been,  how  many- 
useless  luxuries  have  become  necessities 
through  habit.  The  physical  man  responds 
to  this  message  of  the  woods  which  sharpens 
the  eye  and  the  ear  and  steadies  the  nerve. 
Very  good  is  the  quailing  of  the  hawk  and 
the  tap  of  the  sapsucker,  the  poise  and  flight 
of  the  eagle,  the  sinewy  motions  of  deer  and 
antelope,  good  and  satisfying  to  this  forest 
mood  which  loves  the  virile  song  of  the 
mountain  torrent  and  the  lonely  cry  of  the 
loon  and  itself  is  heroic  and  masculine,  cre- 
ating to  its  use  keen  eye  and  sinewy  limbs. 
Such  an  eye  loves  the  porphyry  cliffs  and  the 
desolate  timber  line,  loves  the  unbroken 
forest  of  fir  and  pine,  the  glacial  lakes  set 
like  opals  in  the  alpine  valleys;  and  such  a 
foot    loves    the    mountain    trail. 

Sooner  or  later  comes  the  revolt  against 
"improvement"  in  nature,  the  artificial  in 
life,  the  dogma  in  religion.  We  would  be 
free   of   these   fetters.     It    is   the   imperious 


Nature  1 1 5 

call  of  the  wild,  the  spirit  of  the  ancestral 
legions;  but  profounder  still,  it  is  the  Soul 
calling  to  freedom — the  unfettered  Soul  which, 
itself  the  changeless  beauty,  knows  the  eph- 
emeral world  for  a  passing  reflection.  Give 
us  then  for  our  portion  the  wilderness  and 
the  sierra,  the  mystic  desert  and  the  opal 
sea.  Like  music  these  speak  to  us  of  that 
which  is  net  of  to-day  nor  of  yesterday,  not 
of  this  people  nor  of  that;  which  spoke  when 
earth,  a  little  whirling  nebula,  detached  itself 
from  the  seething  vortex,  and  which  shall 
speak  when  the  dying  world,  narrowing  its 
fatal  orbit,  shall  plunge  at  last  into  the  fiery 
heart  of  the  sun  and  there  shall  be  one  mote 
less  in  the  sunlight. 

Consider  the  sea,  how  companionable  it 
may  be,  for  it  is  alive  and  has  moods  of  its 
own.  But  he  who  loves  the  sea  will  find  it 
as  changeable  as  woman  and  as  inexplicable. 
There  is  something  of  the  charm  we  appre- 
ciate most  in  our  friend,  the  delight  of  surprise 
and  of  some  yet  unfathomed  resource.  The 
changeful  sea!  It  is  now  opalescent  and 
ethereal,  a  dream-ocean ;  anon  cold  and  hard 
in  white-capped  beauty ;  leaden  and  terrible 
it  reveals  how  thin  is  the  veil  that  covers 
here,   as   in  us,   the  primeval  savagery. 


n6  Resources 

Certain  days — and  the  poet  knows  them 
well — seem  to  convey  in  themselves  the  wise 
admonition  against  familiarity.  "Do  not 
look  too  close,"  they  say.  All  charm  is 
elusive.  When  we  would  grasp  it,  it  vanishes. 
The  mountains  of  the  desert,  clothed  by  dis- 
tance in  a  royal  mantle  of  purple,  are  brown 
and  barren  near  at  hand.  Perspective  we 
must  have,  in  nature,  and  in  society.  So 
has  the  sea  commonplace  moods,  and  it  were 
wiser  not  to  consort  with  it  then  but  to  wait 
for  more  profitable  hours. 

Delicate  in  the  extreme  is  the  adjustment 
of  feeling  to  the  outer  world.  He  who  does 
not  adequately  guard  the  purity  of  this  emo- 
tional life,  can  no  more  be  receptive  to  subtle 
and  exquisite  impressions,  than  one  accus- 
tomed to  the  society  of  the  low  and  vulgar, 
can  respond  to  the  stimulus  of  highly  refined 
intellects.  He  can  no  more  serve  two  mas- 
ters here  than  elsewhere.  Habitual  asso- 
ciation with  commonplace,  or  even  purely 
utilitarian  ideas  thus  disqualifies  the  mind 
for  the  finer  appreciation  of  nature.  Some 
wear  out  the  mechanism  of  the  emotions 
by  overuse,  so  that  it  is  like  an  old  piano; 
many  have  but  the  mechanism  of  a  cheap 
piano  to  begin  with.     As  we  live,  so  shall  we 


Nature  1 1 7 

see.  Only  in  simplicity  and  refinement  of 
living  can  the  aesthetic  faculties  give  the 
best  account  of  themselves,  for  only  then  is 
beauty  clearly  perceived.  Dissipation  with 
the  emotions,  renders  them  less  and  less  sensi- 
tive to  healthy  reactions,  until  the  desire  is 
for  quantity  rather  than  quality — as  the 
drunkard  craves  not  the  bouquet  of  wines 
so  much  as  the  mere  alcohol  they  contain. 
Thus  does  excess  reduce  everything  to  a 
coarse  level. 

How  fugitive  are  those  impressions  which 
nature  yields.  To  the  golden  opiate  of  spring 
we  owe  a  few  brief  halcyon  hours.  'T  is  all 
magic-play  and  we  live  by  enchantment. 
The  first  bluebird's  warble,  the  song  spar- 
row's trill,  the  song  of  the  ruby  kinglet  falling 
suddenly  upon  the  ear,  each  in  turn  lifts  for 
an  instant  the  veil  of  mystery,  and  we  stand 
face  to  face  with  the  eternal  beauty.  Once 
each  year  we  see  the  hepatica,  the  bloodroot, 
the  columbine;  once  only  these  yield  us 
themselves,  as  it  were  a  first  kiss.  When  we 
see  them  again  they  are  not  the  same.  We 
shall  behold  nothing  more  beautiful  than  the 
dawn,  but  it  is  not  to  be  seen  every  day, 
so  readily  are  the  perceptions  blunted  by  the 
usual.     Only    at    rare    intervals    should    we 


n8  Resources 

approach  the  temple  of  Aurora,  lest  the  god- 
dess refuse  to  reveal  herself.  How  marvellous 
the  night  when,  wrapped  in  our  blankets,  we 
lie  down  upon  the  bare  earth.  It  is  as  if  we 
saw  the  very  heavens  for  the  first  time.  But 
in  us  is  a  more  wonderful  spring  and  autumn 
than  any  in  nature.  In  us  is  the  background 
of  night  from  whence  emerges  the  radiant 
dawn. 

The  most  precious  gift  of  the  hills  is  not 
mountain  air  but  rather  the  mountain  thoughts 
they  inspire.  They  draw  us  as  do  our  ideals. 
Youth  they  lead  on  and  on  and  ever  to  some 
beyond;  to  youth  they  are  as  the  springtime, 
full  of  hope.  Older  and  sadder  eyes  look 
towards  them  and  find  peace.  This  we  may 
affirm  of  nature:  that  it  makes  for  sanity  and 
for  health.  Contact  with  upland  pastures  is 
like  association  with  a  strong  and  cheerful 
personality.  We  free  ourselves  there  of  the 
world-hypnosis.  Mountain  thoughts  like 
mountain  air  are  purer.  A  solitary  walk  in 
the  woods  is  a  dip  into  a  clearer  mental  at- 
mosphere from  which  we  emerge  refreshed, 
and  our  moodiness  is  dispelled  by  the  cheery 
voice  of  the  chickadee.  Tang  of  black  cherry, 
wild  flavour  of  wintergreen  and  sassafras, 
odour  of  bayberry    and  pine   needles,    have 


Nature  119 

each  the  power  of  conveying  a  certain  robust 
suggestion  to  the  mind  and  this  also  is  a 
kind  of  witchery. 

Autumn  woods,  dreamy  hills,  and  peaceful 
meadows,  constitute  the  natural  estate  of 
man  to  which  he  lays  claim  through  his  own 
qualifications  merely,  and  not  by  reason  of 
money  or  law.  In  the  deepest  sense,  natural- 
ist, poet,  and  artist,  rather  than  landowner  or 
farmer,  are  the  enjoyers  of  this  inheritance 
in  that  they  have  best  qualified  themselves. 
It  is  a  marvellous  fact  and  occult  in  its  sig- 
nificance that  this  estate  we  cultivate  wholly 
indirectly  by  cultivating  our  own  faculties. 
The  greater  the  man  the  greater  his  portion 
in  nature. 

There  are  thoughts  which  are  as  anemones 
and  violets,  and  those  again  which  are  thistles 
and  burrs;  moods  that  are  like  green  pas- 
tures and  still  waters  and  others  that  are 
sand  storms  on  the  desert.  Happy  he  whose 
intellect  puts  forth  new  buds  and  renews  it- 
self as  the  poplar  and  willow,  whose  thoughts 
reflect  the  hum  of  bees  in  the  apple  blossoms 
and  are  as  significant  and  true  as  the  call  of 
the  high  hole  and  the  revery  of  the  robin; 
happy  he  who  keeps  his  face  to  the  sun  and 
in  his  heart  the  love  of  birds  and  flowers. 


120  Resources 

They  shall  ever  whisper  to  him  and  in  a 
world  of  shadows  he  shall  yet  be  solaced  by 
their  beauty. 

Man's  royalty  in  nature  is  that  it  should 
not  only  feed  and  clothe  him  but  minister 
to  his  moods  and  thoughts  as  well;  and  no 
feeling  is  so  deep  and  none  so  high  but  the 
mountains  and  the  sea  shall  seem  to  have 
sympathy.  Whatever  epic  stirs  in  him,  the 
forest  and  the  plains  are  a  fit  setting.  Wher- 
ever there  be  rocks  he  reads  the  history  of 
vanished  races,  of  epochs  and  aeons  of  time, 
and  so  doing  is  impelled  from  village,  to 
cosmic  and  sublime  considerations.  No  less 
does  the  gently  falling  snow  attract  and  hold 
us,  and  when  it  has  melted  from  the  earth, 
the  delicate  leaves  of  the  bloodroot  emerging 
from  the  ground  are  as  marvellous  and  in- 
explicable as  the  triumphant  progress  of  the 
shining  worlds.  Ineffable  is  this  relation 
between  man  and  nature,  when  the  red 
maples  in  the  swamps  and  the  song  of  the 
hyla  may  cast  a  glamour  over  our  thoughts, 
and  the  encounter  with  a  new  bird  redeem 
the  day  from  dulness  and  care. 


CHAPTER  X 
TRAVEL 

/^^OOD  descriptions  of  foreign  towns  have 
^-^  been  written  by  those  who  have  never 
seen  the  places  they  described ;  while  residents 
in  countries  of  peculiar  interest  are  often 
stupidly  indifferent  to  their  surroundings. 
Few  travellers  have  seen  as  much  in  their 
longest  journey  as  did  Thoreau  in  his  week 
on  the  Merrimac;  not  that  there  was  so 
much  to  the  Merrimac,  but  there  was  so 
much  to  Thoreau.  With  what  eye  do  you 
see  ?  A  dull  eye  beholds  a  dull  world,  and  the 
unsympathetic  see  through  an  orb  of  ground 
glass. 

Travel  is  a  fetich  with  the  vulgar,  who  go 
to  places  merely  to  say  they  have  been  there. 
It  has  become  too  easy  and  you  must  work 
the  harder  to  get  the  good  of  it.  Memoirs 
of  eighteenth  century  travellers  in  Europe 
reveal  how  much  more  they  saw  in  a  journey 
by  diligence  from  Paris  to  Rome  than  we  can 


121 


122  Resources 

see  now.  Their  accounts  are  more  enter- 
taining than  the  actual  journey  to-day. 
Similarly  with  our  own  West;  within  a  few 
years  it  has  become  a  tame  affair,  yielding 
the  traveller  only  ordinary  comfort,  where 
the  pioneer  derived  adventure.  Our  civili- 
sation tends  to  bring  everything  to  a  dead 
level,  so  that  every  town  in  America  looks 
more  or  less  like  every  other,  and  nowhere  is 
there  any  individuality. 

Who  will  ever  again  see  what  Hue  and 
Gabet  saw  in  Thibet;  what  Bernal  Diaz  saw 
in  New  Spain?  The  best  books  of  travel 
were  written  before  the  journalistic  era  when 
people  did  not  try  to  make  "copy"  of  every- 
thing, and  writers  of  travels  were  not  re- 
porters but  men.  To-day  we  are  in  haste, 
not  to  absorb  the  peculiar  charm  of  a  foreign 
land — its  personality  so  to  speak, — but  to 
get  somewhere  and  back.  We  do  not  sur- 
render ourselves  to  the  genius  of  an  alien 
people;  we  are  not  willing  to  sit  at  the  feet 
of  India  or  of  Japan  that  we  may  receive 
that  which  they  have  to  impart  of  themselves, 
but  there  is  danger  instead  that  we  shall 
Americanise,  Anglicise,  Teutonise  the  whole 
world.  Tourists  are  the  modern  vandals 
whose    ferocious    onslaughts   make    the    old 


Travel  123 

civilisations  to  tremble.  There  is  not  any- 
where a  place  frequented  by  them  but  has 
lost  some  of  its  essential  character  and  come 
to  wear  the  self-complacent  smirk  of  those 
who  fatten  on  the  gullibility  of  the  newly 
travelled. 

Never  again  shall  we  behold  that  Europe 
we  saw,  when,  fresh  from  college  we  roamed, 
knapsack  on  back,  our  heads  full  of  romantic 
dreams.  Those  were  halcyon  days,  and  ours 
the  Europe  of  romance.  Rouen,  Nuremberg, 
and  Florence  were  not  towns  peopled  largely 
by  respectable  burghers  quietly  conducting 
their  affairs,  but  mediaeval  and  wonderful, 
and  over  them  lay  the  glamour  of  a  chivalrous 
and  adventurous  past,  as  real  to  our  be- 
witched eyes  as  the  enchantment  of  fairy 
tales  to  children.  We  saw  with  the  eyes  of 
poets  and  dreamers,  a  legendary  Venice,  a 
fabulous  Rome,  an  enchanted  Rhine.  Hal- 
cyon days  indeed — but  who  shall  say  which 
is  the  real  Paris,  the  real  Venice?  They  are 
all  things  to  all  men,  as  the  self-same  forest 
is  an  enchanted  wood  to  the  child,  a  quiet 
refuge  to  the  poet,  and  a  mere  tract  of  timber 
to  the  lumberman.  See  them  then  with  the 
eye  of  youth  and  of  romance,  nor  wait  until 
Paris  has  become  only  a  world  of  shops  and 


124  Resources 

cafes  and  London  a  place  in  which  to  buy 
ill-fitting  clothes  because  they  are  cheap. 

You  have  been  to  Italy,  yes,  but  to  which 
Italy?  Have  you  been  to  Dante's  Florence, 
to  the  Venice  of  the  Doges,  the  Rome  of  the 
Caesars  ?  There  was  one  Florence,  but  there 
have  been  many  Romes,  and  there  are  people 
who  see  none  of  these  but  only  the  Rome,  the 
Paris,  the  Naples  of  hotel  corridors  and  table 
d'hote  dinners.  Our  school  histories  gave 
us  a  false  perspective  and  taught  us  Europe 
was  but  a  battle  ground,  a  chessboard,  on 
which  kings  and  captains  pranced  about. 
A  stupid  view — as  if  history  were  all  politics 
and  war;  as  if  the  King  of  this  and  the  Duke 
of  that,  rather  than  Horace  and  Virgil,  Plato 
and  Aristotle,  Angelo  and  Da  Vinci,  were  the 
masters.  And  so  we  must  all  go  to  see  where 
the  King  of  France  and  his  ten  thousand  men 
marched  up  a  hill  and  down  again. 

The  chief  end  of  travel  is  to  transport  one 
to  a  new  point  of  view,  a  new  state  of  mind. 
We  are  to  travel  out  of  the  rut  in  which  we 
live  into  some  broader  field  where  we  may 
look  upon  a  new  horizon.  Naturally  those 
countries  with  a  history  and  a  literature  are 
best  endowed  to  render  this  service.  It  is 
very  little  that   Patagonia  can  do  for  one; 


Travel  125 

relatively  little  that  one's  own  country  can 
do.  A  change  of  climate  is  not  enough;  we 
must  have  a  cnange  of  customs,  manners,  and 
dress,  of  language  and  ideas,  and  it  may 
be  worth  while  to  go  where  there  are  no  man- 
ners, if  only  for  variety.  Why  go  to  Florida 
to  sit  on  a  hotel  porch  and  hear  the  accus- 
tomed gossip  and  lead  the  same  artificial 
life?  Rather  let  us  hie  to  the  mountains 
and  the  desert  and  associate  with  Indians 
and  cowboys.  For  the  spirit  of  the  wild  is 
friendly  to  our  best  interests.  It  is  there 
we  may  be  roughly  detached  from  conven- 
tional thought,  from  the  platitudes  of  so- 
ciety, and  in  the  solitudes  come  to  ourselves. 
Beaten  tracks  are  so  many  ruts  of  thought, 
where  there  is  constant  danger  of  encountering 
that  which  we  are  travelling  to  escape.  The 
indispensable  railroad  is  nevertheless  a  great 
leveller  and  the  destroyer  of  individuality. 
It  brings  mediocrity  as  it  brings  freight,  and 
the  people  along  the  line  gradually  surrender 
themselves  in  exchange  for  these  and  become 
less  and  less  distinctive.  Progress  is  to  be 
the  watchword  of  this  century,  and  devil 
take  the  picturesque.  That  which  is  best 
worth  seeing  in  any  country  is  not  mentioned 
in  the  guide-book  and  is  only  discovered  by 


126  Resources 

accomplished  travellers.  In  Mexico  to-day, 
you  may,  if  you  will,  go  back  into  the  six- 
teenth century  and  find  yourself  in  Old  New 
Spain.  You  must  leave  the  beaten  track, 
strap  on  a  revolver  and  cartridge  belt,  and 
mount  a  horse.  On  the  Pacific  coast  trails 
you  will  fall  in  with  mule  trains  which  differ 
not  a  whit  from  those  of  the  early  days 
when  the  galleons  from  the  far  East  landed 
their  rich  cargoes  at  Acapulco  and  Manzanillo 
to  be  transported  across  the  continent  on 
mule  back.  You  may  enjoy  the  society  of 
reformed  bandits  and  of  hacendados,  whose 
costume  and  whose  manner  of  thought  are 
more  in  accord  with  that  day  than  with  this ; 
you  may  encounter  an  Indian  people  living  in 
their  primitive  villages  who  have  not  yet 
heard  of  the  Conquest.  It  is  the  land  of 
magnificent  distance,  of  superb  desolation, 
of  a  vast  perspective  which  invites  the 
cramped  thought  to  expand.  One  carries 
fewer  prejudices  on  a  horse  or  on  foot  and 
is  thus  able  to  penetrate  a  little  nearer  the 
heart  of  a  country. 

It  is  perhaps  no  more  than  accident  that 
we  are  born  Americans  and  not  Englishmen, 
Frenchmen  and  not  Germans,  Aryan  and 
not  Semitic;  yet  we  are  filled  with  an  over- 


Travel  127 

weening  national  pride,  an  inheritance  of 
ancient  tribal  prejudices,  while  none  acknow- 
ledge their  debt  to  the  chimpanzee  without 
whose  presence  in  the  chain  of  evolution  there 
might  be  no  England  or  America.  Those 
who  have  cooked  an  infant  monkey  have 
felt  the  revulsion  of  an  imposed  cannibalism, 
and  yet  we  are  prone  to  despise  the  man  who 
merely  speaks  a  different  tongue  from  our 
own. 

Travel,  above  all,  should  overcome  this 
petty  aversion,  entertained  by  every  people 
against  every  alien  people,  this  insularity 
which  is  well-nigh  universal  and  in  respect  to 
which  New  York  is  as  provincial  as  Oshkosh 
and  Kalamazoo;  which  exists  in  the  United 
States  between  town  and  town,  as  it  does  in 
Persia,  as  it  did  in  Syria  at  the  beginning  of 
our  era,  when  it  was  asked  "Can  any  good 
thing  come  out  of  Nazareth?"  It  well  may 
happen  now  as  then  that  the  stone  which 
the  builders  rejected  shall  become  the  corner- 
stone. If  travel  has  not  taught  us  to  judge 
men  as  men,  and  not  as  Roman  or  Greek,  it 
has  indeed  taught  us  little. 

Happily  there  are  still  neglected  spots  in 
Europe  where  progress  has  not  become  the 
fetich:  Brittany,  for  example,  and  the  beau- 


128  Resources 

tiful  Dolomite  country.  To  saunter  leisurely 
through  these  delectable  regions,  conversing 
with  the  simple  peasants,  watching  them  at 
their  work,  stopping  in  their  houses,  yielding 
them  a  sympathetic  interest,  is  to  turn  back 
the  years  a  little  and  to  see  a  phantom  youth 
on  the  mind's  horizon.  But  it  is  a  mistake 
to  stay  too  long  in  a  foreign  country;  it  is  a 
mistake  to  stay  too  long  on  earth,  for  that 
matter.  When  the  sympathies  have  dried 
up;  when  interest  has  faded,  and  contempt, 
indifference,  and  a  flippant  cynicism  have 
taken  its  place,  it  were  better  to  move  on. 
If  the  mind  is  warped,  the  eye  grows  dull 
and  no  longer  sees  beauty.  But  the  traveller 
with  a  mind  fresh  for  impressions  finds  all 
alluring  and  full  of  new  interest,  as  youth 
finds  life  good. 

What  has  each  country  to  teach;  what  is 
its  peculiar  charm?  Ours  is  a  land  of  little 
leisure,  where  the  practical  takes  precedence. 
While  we  are  the  patrons  of  the  arts,  we  have 
neither  the  atmosphere  of  art  nor  of  music, 
but  of  commerce  only.  Yet  it  is  easy  to  go 
about  the  world  allying  ourselves  everywhere 
with  that  which  we  have  traversed  oceans 
and  continents  to  escape.  Few  learn  that 
the  essence  of  travel  is  to  travel  away  from 


Travel  129 

oneself.  The  good  traveller  leaves  his  Amer- 
ica at  home,  and  if  he  take  his  cut  and  dried 
opinions  and  prejudices  to  Tuticorin  or  the 
North  Cape,  congratulates  himself  that  he 
has  left  them  there  and  come  back  a  different 
man.  The  atmosphere  of  Leipsic  and  Berlin 
is  music,  as  of  Paris  and  Rome  it  is  art,  and 
men  go  there  to  absorb  this,  which  stimulates 
their  faculties  in  a  given  direction.  Italy 
has  still  more  to  ofTer  the  nervous  American, 
in  the  example  of  a  more  deliberate  ideal  of 
living  which  it  is  of  advantage  to  fairly  con- 
trast with  our  own.  When  we  pride  our- 
selves on  our  lack  of  leisure,  it  is  because  we 
do  not  distinguish  between  leisure  and  indo- 
lence. The  art  of  doing  nothing  is  worthy 
of  consideration,  especially  by  a  people  who 
wear  out  their  brains  in  a  life  of  perpetual 
action.  To  the  Saxon  progress,  the  Latin 
opposes  his  dolce  far  niente,  and  who  shall 
decide  which  gets  more  out  of  life?  Is  it 
not  perhaps  the  province  of  travel  to  instruct 
us  in  deriving  the  good  from  each,  as  the 
passing  bee  extracts  nectar  from  the  various 
flowers  and  works  it  into  honey?  So  may 
we  take  the  nectar  of  exotic  blossoms,  not 
overlooking  our  own  good  clover  fields,  and 
from  it  derive  nutriment  and  some  sweet. 


130  Resources 

As  the  vital  periods  of  history  are  those 
in  which  flourished  great  and  magnetic  men, 
and  the  history  of  such  times  is  no  more 
than  the  biography  of  these  personages,  the 
interesting  places  of  travel  are  those  asso- 
ciated with  these  grandees  of  the  race. 
Florence  apart  from  the  Medici,  from  Dante, 
from  Savonarola  does  not  exist.  How  rich 
is  Rome  in  stored  memories;  how  vast  the 
wealth  of  London!  To  this  day,  Palestine 
is  under  a  spell,  so  great  was  the  force  of  one 
transcendent  personality.  In  Greece,  it  is  as 
if  a  race  of  giants  had  become  extinct  and 
were  succeeded  by  pygmies.  But  the  shades 
of  the  illustrious  dead  still  people  Athens, 
and  the  little  inhabitants  scurry  between  the 
legs  of  these  unseen  giants. 

Places  again  which  are  the  homes  of  crafts 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation 
have  a  peculiar  charm;  and  more  and  more 
rare  are  these  becoming,  for  the  octopus  of 
a  pretentious  and  noisy  progress  is  strangling 
the  last  faithful  survivors  of  the  beautiful 
crafts.  Navajo  blanket,  Mexican  zerape,  and 
Persian  rug  have  succumbed  to  the  aniline 
dye.  How  great  a  part  have  the  violins  of 
Stradavarius  played  in  the  history  of  feeling, 
but  there  is  left  to  Cremona  only  the  memory 


Travel  131 

of  a  vanished  glory.  This  is  the  portion  of 
many  a  quaint  town  whose  guiding  genius 
was  the  love  of  beauty.  We  may  well  ask: 
What  are  to  be  the  compensations  for  the 
decay  of  the  best  fruit  of  the  past  and  the 
flowering  of  an  age  in  which  we  are  to  live  by 
electricity  and  view  with  passionless  eyes  a 
sordid  world  given  to  the  worship  of  money  ? 
To  the  experienced  traveller  it  is  a  discourag- 
ing question,  and  he  finds  himself  journeying 
less  and  less  by  the  map  and  seeking  the 
remote  and  inaccessible  in  his  effort  to  escape 
the  far-reaching  tentacles  of  the  octopus. 
But  nothing  is  final  to  the  philosopher. 
Evils  carry  their  own  correction  and  every 
age  must  have  its  compensations.  To  him 
the  passing  phases  of  thought  are  so  many 
beads  strung  on  that  endless  string — the 
tendency  to  Good. 

A  wise  rule  is  not  to  travel  too  fast  or  too 
much,  lest  we  exhaust  this  resource.  In- 
terest, more  than  any  other  factor  in  life,  is 
the  friend  of  youth,  the  enemy  of  age.  They 
grow  old  slowly  who  keep  their  interest  in 
life.  Languages,  customs,  and  religions  of 
strange  peoples,  and  no  less  the  botany, 
ornithology,  and  geology  of  strange  lands 
afford  delectable  fields.     We  carry  with   us 


132  Resources 


so  many  films,  as  it  were,  which  are  exposed 
to  this  and  that  influence  and  the  developed 
negatives  stored  in  the  mind.  While  some 
men  bring  home  a  supply  of  well  composed 
pictures,  others  have  no  more  than  blurred 
negatives  of  ill-chosen  subjects.  An  ob- 
servant habit,  artistic  sense,  and  cultivated 
mind,  are  the  requisites  of  the  good  mental 
photographer.  The  number  and  still  more 
the  character  of  these  negatives  indicate  to 
what  purpose  one  has  travelled,  and  it  is 
only  now  and  then  from  original  and  com- 
prehensive minds  that  we  are  presented  with 
a  set  of  impressions,  distinctive  and  of  value. 
Highly  sensitised  films  will  receive  their 
most  delicate  and  subtle  impressions  in  the 
Orient.  As  the  camera  has  revealed  in  the 
heavens  what  is  not  apparent  to  the  telescope, 
much  less  to  the  eye,  so  there  are  special  films 
in  the  mind  which,  recording  nothing  in  our 
world,  instantly  make  revelations  when  ex- 
posed to  the  life  of  the  wonderful  East.  It 
is  perhaps  safe  to  say  that  no  European  ever 
has  or  ever  will  understand  the  Orient. 
Lafcadio  Hearn  has,  more  than  any  other 
Westerner,  approached  an  understanding  and 
at  the  same  time  clearly  shown  how  wide  is 
the    gulf.     Essentially    religious    and    meta- 


Travel  133 

physical,  the  Eastern  ideal  is  not  our  ideal; 
its  life  is  not  our  life.  We  may  even  believe 
that  the  surprising  metamorphosis  of  Japan 
is  not  of  the  heart  but  an  outward  change 
merely,  induced  by  the  necessity  of  preserving 
her  national  integrity.  Hearn  himself  has 
characterised  it  as  jiu-jitsu,  that  peculiar 
Samurai  art  of  self-defence  through  apparent 
yielding,  whereby  one's  opponent  is  made  to 
break  his  own  arm,  his  shoulder,  even  his 
neck,  by  his  own  strength  cleverly  diverted 
against  him.  The  stronger  he  is,  so  much 
the  worse  for  him.  Here  is  the  attitude  of 
Japan.  Could  any  position  be  more  nearly 
inexplicable  from  a  western  view-point?  In 
time,  a  purely  outward  change  must  of  neces- 
sity affect  the  integrity  of  the  inner  life  of 
that  people,  as  indeed  it  has  already  tainted 
their  art — there  is  no  serving  beauty  and 
Mammon. 

No  change  could  be  more  radical  than  is 
presented  to  the  traveller  who,  once  in  Japan, 
slips  into  that  quiet  Buddhist  world,  that 
world  of  great  peace  and  of  beautiful  little 
things.  In  the  days  of  the  daimios,  a 
samurai  might  kill  for  the  provocation  of 
not  smiling,  or  of  not  smiling  properly;  hence 
with   such   traditions   much   politeness   now. 


134  Resources 

Immemorial  traditions,  too,  of  art  and  the 
centuries-developed  capacity  to  see  things  in 
a  beautiful  light;  again  of  thought-control, 
long  practised,  and  serene  Buddha-teaching 
of  right  living  in  view  of  inexorable  karma. 
To  enter  that  atmosphere  is  to  eat  of  the 
lotus.  Senses  are  steeped  in  its  subtle  magic, 
till  they  respond  to  finer  and  finer  stimuli. 
The  mind  takes  on  some  of  the  exquisiteness 
of  Japanese  ideals  of  beauty,  and  thinks  in 
terms  of  lacquer,  bronze,  and  ivory,  of  Sat- 
suma  and  cloisonne;  feels  the  mystic  spell 
of  brooding  daibutsus,  old  temples  in  crypto- 
meria  groves,  and  sweet  temple  bells,  and 
dreams  a  new  dream.  A  stork,  a  cherry 
blossom,  a  plum  tree  is  something  more  than 
it  was,  appearing  in  a  new  and  strangely 
beautiful  light  and  a  new  relation,  allied 
rather  to  thought  than  to  elemental  nature. 
If  there  is  anything  in  contrasts  as  affecting 
the  force  and  vividness  of  impressions,  it 
were  better  to  work  from  the  Mediterranean 
eastward;  for  to  start  with  Japan  is  like  be- 
ginning with  the  climax  of  a  book.  Thus 
Constantinople  and  Cairo,  after  India,  are  in 
the  nature  of  an  anti-climax.  No  other 
country  in  the  world  can  stimulate  thought 
and  imagination  like  India,  where  men  ne- 


Travel  135 

gate  the  specious  worldly  ideas  by  which  we 
live,  and  which  to  us  seem  so  large  and  im- 
portant, and  sit  lost  in  metaphysical  dreams; 
where  not  sensuous,  but  superconscious,  life 
is  the  goal  of  a  people,  to  whom  our  facts  are 
illusion  and  our  illusion  their  fact.  This 
India,  inwardly  wrapped  in  mystic  slumbers 
and  outwardly  blazing  in  barbaric  colour,  was 
the  cradle  of  religion,  of  philosophy.  In 
Vedic  times,  nay  in  the  days  of  Atlantis,  she 
pondered  the  riddle  of  life,  and  with  eyes 
closed,  saw  another  world  more  real  to  her 
than  this.  If  she  opened  her  eyes,  it  was  to 
see  a  phantom  world,  a  mirage  on  the  desert 
where  she  pitched  her  tent  for  a  night. 
Much  has  been  said  of  what  India  has  to 
teach  the  West ;  much  might  be  said  of  what 
we  may  teach  India.  One  lesson  the  thought- 
ful traveller  learns  in  the  East — that  there, 
religion  is  life,  and  whatever  form  it  may 
take,  it  is  none  the  less  first  in  the  hearts  of 
the  people.  India  is  not  one  country,  but 
many,  and  the  fighting  Ghurkas  and  Sikhs, 
the  obsequious  Bengali,  the  Mahrata  and 
Rajput  are  scarcely  even  countrymen.  But 
wherever  a  Yogi  meditates,  whether  in  Madras 
or  on  the  Tibetan  frontier,  the  key  of  that 
India  is  the  Upanishad. 


136  Resources 

This  is  the  age  of  travel,  and  the  traveller 
pays  tithe  to  the  whole  world.  He  well  may 
ask  himself  to  what  end,  if  his  insight  has 
not  deepened,  if  his  sympathies  have  not 
broadened  with  his  journeys  and  become  less 
provincial,  more  nearly  universal,  in  his 
growing  sense  of  the  solidarity  of  the  race. 
Under  the  many  masks  there  is  one  heart, 
as  there  is  one  mind.  Let  him  put  off  his 
tribal  prejudices  and  become  a  citizen  of  the 
world,  which  is  after  all  but  a  point  in  space. 
Everywhere  virtue  is  the  health  of  man,  in- 
sincerity and  self-interest  his  disease.  Every- 
where is  illusion;  nevertheless  in  every  age 
and  in  every  land  truth  awaits  her  discoverers. 


CHAPTER   XI 
READING 

A  MAN  may  be  known  by  the  books  he 
prefers,  as  by  the  company  he  keeps. 
A  book  is  a  man  on  paper  instead  of  in  the 
flesh,  and  from  shyness  or  pedantry  some 
prefer  to  seek  men  in  books  only,  like  those 
naturalists  who  confine  themselves  to  skins 
and  specimens  rather  than  to  the  birds  and 
flowers  of  the  fields.  It  must  be  admitted 
that  some  society  is  best  enjoyed  at  this  safe 
distance  and  the  acquaintance  of  many 
clever  and  eccentric  minds  is  thus  made — 
men  impossible  socially,  who  none  the  less  re- 
flect some  brilliant  phase  of  the  one  Intellect. 
We  have  in  books  the  most  cosmopolitan 
society  in  the  world,  and  what  is  more  than 
all  else,  the  society  of  the  great,  the  illustri- 
ous, the  noble  minded  in  all  times.  Yet 
libraries  do  not  take  the  place  of  actual  and 
present  intercourse  with  men,  and  the  soli- 
tary   bookworm    eschewing    companionship 

137 


138  Resources 

and  burning  the  midnight  oil — reading  about 
life  rather  than  living — is  himself  but  the 
ghost  of  a  man. 

While  of  the  making  of  books  there  is  no 
end  and  libraries  have  become  not  only  reposi- 
tories of  the  living,  but  mausoleums  for  the 
host  of  dead  books,  the  serious  reader  counts 
relatively  few  friends  among  them  all,  few 
he  keeps  ever  with  him,  whom  he  reads  year 
after  year  and  to  whom  he  can  turn  in  his 
need.  These  are  his  intimates  with  whom 
he  communes  in  solitude,  and  it  is  this  chosen 
few  who  are,  in  the  deepest  sense,  more  than 
a  resource,  even  a  refuge  and  a  present  help. 
They  will  not  be  the  same  with  all  men  nor 
the  same  with  any  one  man  in  every  phase  of 
his  life.  Some  books  have  for  us  a  message 
for  this  day  only  and  are  immediately  left 
behind.  They  are  guide-posts  on  the  way- 
ward journey  of  life.  Others  again — and 
these  be  few — are  as  the  fixed  stars  by 
which  the  mariner  shapes  his  course.  Such 
books  are  of  universal  import,  applying 
equally  to  all  times  and  places  and  were 
written  by  universal  men,  men  whom  the 
world  calls  inspired. 

Few  in  any  age  can  read  the  bibles  of  the 
world    understandingly,    yet    at    no    time    is 


Reading  139 


their  message  altogether  unheeded.  We  read 
as  we  must,  that  is  according  to  our  capacity. 
If  we  accept  the  letter  only,  it  is  because  we 
are  not  qualified  to  do  more.  It  is  an  old 
maxim  that  he  who  knows  one  religion  knows 
none.  But  one  meets  few  persons  who  are 
really  familiar  with  the  Gita,  and  seldom 
one  who  has  studied  the  Upanishads  or  the 
Dharmapada.  Yet  these  are  the  fixed  stars. 
Religion  is  faith,  but  where  that  faith  is  but- 
tressed by  the  authority  of  books  there 
should  be  wide  reading.  An  acquaintance 
with  Hillel  and  Philo  may  throw  some  light 
on  the  thought-world  of  Jesus.  Read  the 
early  history  of  the  Church,  and  above  all 
study  the  history  and  chronology  of  that 
miscellaneous  collection,  the  Bible.  Compare 
the  Buddhist  canon  with  the  gospels,  the 
Buddhist  birth  stories  with  the  Christian 
legend.  Again,  inquire  into  the  character 
and  influence  of  neo-Platonic  thought.  Why 
is  it  that  we  modern  Aryans  should  borrow  so 
exclusively  from  Semitic  sources,  while  com- 
pletely ignoring  the  vast  body  of  religious 
thought   of   our  Aryan   forefathers? 

So  considerable  is  our  debt  to  antiquity, 
it  passes  understanding  that  this  legacy 
should  have  descended  to  us  through  such 


14°  Resources 

lapses  of  time  and  not  have  miscarried  or 
been  lost.  In  every  instance  it  is  the  shadow 
of  a  man  projected  across  the  centuries, 
but  this  was  possible  only  because  upon  him 
the  effulgent  Soul  shed  its  light.  It  seems 
little  less  than  miraculous  that  the  Rig  Veda 
should  have  been  handed  down,  as  Max 
Muller  assures  us,  through  many  centuries 
by  word  of  mouth  before  it  was  committed 
to  writing.  I  have  here  a  little  book  written 
five  centuries  before  our  era  in  the  moun- 
tains of  China  in  the  province  of  Cho,  whose 
presence  renews  in  me  a  sense  of  the  worth 
of  man  and  the  dignity  of  letters.  While  at 
the  same  time  the  query  arises:  Where  are 
the  books  of  yesterday?  How  many  readers 
were  there  for  the  notable  papyri  of  antiquity, 
the  manuscripts  of  later  times,  or  the  first 
books?  Few  were  familiar  with  the  Roman 
poets  in  their  own  day,  yet  they  were  not  lost 
to  view  but  have  descended  to  the  present, 
while  their  contemporaries — the  rich,  the 
proud,  the  powerful — were  soon  forgotten. 
The  true  poet  outlives  his  age,  his  country, 
his  language,  to  become  the  idol  of  an  alien 
people  in  a  remote  period.  His  language 
may  die  but  his  thought  blossoms  again  and 
again  in  new  tongues. 


Reading  141 

Our  reading  best  serves  the  end  of  character 
in  so  far  as  it  makes  for  breadth  not  less  than 
loftiness  of  view.  We  inquire  of  men  how 
large  is  their  world,  not  what  books  have 
they  read.  Let  them  read  their  eyes  out, 
still  men  of  large  prejudices  and  narrow 
sympathies  expand  slowly.  But  for  the  grow- 
ing men,  the  world  would  have  stagnated  long 
since:  men  who  do  not  remain  imprisoned 
in  any  village,  custom,  or  prejudice  and  to 
the  timid  appear  dangerous.  Measure  your- 
self with  every  good  book  and  see  if  it  con- 
tains you,  or  you  it.  We  criticise  what  we  do 
not  understand,  whereas  it  may  well  be  that 
our  understanding  is  at  fault.  Thank  your 
stars  if  you  know  any  incomprehensible  men. 
It  was  shrewdly  observed  that  the  once  and 
a  half  witted  are  classed  with  the  half  witted. 
For  the  same  reason  mediocrity  passes  for 
sanity.  That  author  is  to  be  cultivated  who 
is  able  to  give  a  new  point  of  view,  above  all 
a  broader  one.  Some  shallow  books  of  good 
style  lead  you  down  an  alley  and  show  you 
a  blank  wall — avoid  them !  A  few  books  take 
you  to  the  mountains  where  you  may  look 
abroad.  Reading  is  not  living,  but  pre-emi- 
nently is  it  an  aid  thereto,  and  to  live,  means 
to  grow.     Sympathy  comes  with  understand- 


142  Resources 

ing.  The  study  of  Greek  and  Roman  periods, 
or  of  the  lives  of  savages,  enables  us  better  to 
understand  what  is  Greek  or  Roman,  and 
what  is  savage,  in  the  lives  of  men  to-day ;  the 
moods  and  reflections  of  poets,  to  divine  the 
motives  and  feelings  of  humanity. 

In  biography,  over  and  above  the  personal, 
there  is  always  a  universal  significance.  We 
have  the  will,  intellect,  and  temperament  of 
a  man  exposed  to  view  with  its  antecedents, 
environment,  influences,  and  we  see  the 
result.  The  biographies  of  some  men  are 
martial  and  inspiriting  music.  Lives  of  pio- 
neers, frontiersmen,  and  Indian  fighters  ex- 
hale courage,  daring,  and  hardihood;  not  less 
is  this  true  of  the  pioneers  in  thought.  Such 
books  are  meat  for  strong  men.  High  and 
manly  qualities  appeal  to  the  same  in  us. 
Though  these  lie  dormant  or  unrecognised, 
they  will  still  respond  in  some  degree  to  the 
magic  words  upon  the  page.  It  is  in  this 
sense  that  good  reading  is  spiritual  exercise, 
stimulating  and  giving  tone  to  the  moral 
being.  We  need  no  better  proof  of  the 
universal  power  of  suggestion. 

Faculties,  like  sinews,  grow  through  use; 
hence  the  value  of  contact  with  original 
minds  who  cause  us   to  think  in  some  new 


Reading  143 

way,  or  at  least  in  some  new  direction. 
Leave  open  the  door,  for  never  do  you  know 
in  what  hour  the  harbinger  of  a  better  life 
may  appear.  When  the  right  thought  falls 
upon  good  ground  it  sets  in  motion  activities 
whose  result  no  man  can  foretell.  I  recall 
how  a  certain  chapter  in  one  of  Balzac's 
novels  was  the  beginning  of  a  spiritual  awaken- 
ing; how  a  brochure  on  bird  study  once 
opened  on  the  instant  a  new  world ;  and  again 
that  a  little  pamphlet  of  Prentice  Mulford 
was  fraught  with  immense  practical  sugges- 
tion not  before  thought  of. 

In  autobiography  we  have  the  intimate 
revelation  of  an  original  mind.  Though  it 
be  no  more  than  the  declaration  of  an  egotist, 
there  is  something  to  be  gleaned  from  his 
self-scrutiny.  Such  books  as  Rousseau's 
and  Augustine's  Confessions,  Amiel's  Journal, 
Jeffrie's  Story  of  My  Heart,  and  Marie 
Bashkirtseff's  Diary,  but  disclose  phases 
of  the  common  nature  as  interpreted  by 
interesting  and  original,  if  too  self-conscious, 
persons.  We  do  not  sufficiently  realise  that 
the  average  man  has  in  him  something  of  the 
poet  though  he  altogether  lacks  the  gift. 
Take  any  company  of  staid  business  men 
into  the  woods,  let  them  forget  their  cares 


144  Resources 

for  a  day,  and  they  will  presently  voice  their 
love  of  beauty,  of  simplicity  and  of  freedom. 
Aspiration  is  not  peculiar  to  a  few  gifted  men, 
notwithstanding  they  alone  are  able  to  give 
it  an  adequate  expression.  The  world  is 
ever  soul  hungry  and  never  more  so  than 
in  a  material  age.  Idealism  is  its  hope,  and 
every  prophet  of  the  ideal  shall  be  welcome 
for  his  light,  though  it  shine  but  dimly.  The 
light  is  not  his;  it  comes  from  above,  and 
pure  indeed  must  be  the  glass  that  transmits 
a  perfect  ray. 

Poetry,  like  music,  dissolves  those  chains 
the  mind  forges  for  itself.  Imprisoned  by 
our  lack  of  self-trust,  by  an  ignoble  prudence, 
like  caged  birds  we  long  to  be  free.  The 
poet  is  the  magician  who  permits  us  to  soar 
for  a  moment  only  to  be  speedily  caught  once 
more  in  the  snare  of  the  fowler.  His  enchant- 
ment is  due  less  to  the  rhythm  of  his  verse 
and  the  magic  of  his  words  than  to  his 
vision,  the  ideal  which  is  his  to  communicate. 
Whitman,  one  of  the  most  liberalising  in- 
fluences in  modern  thought,  owed  little  or 
nothing  to  the  charm  of  his  verse — if  verse 
it  can  be  called, — and  affects  us  through  the 
elemental  quality  of  his  idea,  the  breath  of 
his  vision.     He  did  not  so  much  write  poems 


Reading  145 


i& 


as  gather  material  for  them.  But  the  world 
is  larger  and  better  to  every  man  who  has 
read  him  understandingly.  His  poem  is  a 
rough  uncut  stone,  compared  with  the  flaw- 
less and  polished  gems  of  Keats  and  Tenny- 
son. Mastersingers  such  as  they,  move  us 
through  the  beauty  of  their  utterance,  the 
refinements  of  their  thought,  into  seeing 
the  same  world  in  a  new  light,  and  yield  us 
vague  glimpses  of  other  and  shadowy  worlds 
which  are  merely  new  combinations  of  the 
elements  of  feeling. 

It  is  his  sense  of  the  thing  the  poet  gives 
us,  and  this  may  be  more  beautiful  than  the 
thing  itself.  He  diffuses  about  it  exquisite 
gradations  of  light  and  colour,  but  from 
within  always.  With  what  charm  Words- 
worth invests  humble  scenes  of  life — Words- 
worth the  poet,  that  is,  for  Wordsworth  the 
preacher,  is  tedious  enough.  Shelley  admits 
us  to  the  most  impersonal  view  of  nature  of 
any  of  the  poets — a  world  apart  from  human 
life  and  animated  by  a  spirit  as  fugitive  as 
his  own.  The  poet  discovers  to  us  the  uni- 
versal feeling,  as  the  philosopher  the  uni- 
versal reason.  It  is  one  light  which  passes 
through  the  many-sided  prism  of  the  mind. 
We  see  it  as  diversity,  but  the  poet  should 


146  Resources 

know  it  as  unity  and  should  draw  us  back 
to  the  Eternal  One. 

"Therefore  to  whom  turn  I  but  to  Thee, 
the  ineffable  Name?"  To  the  inspired  vision 
the  apparently  detached  and  separate  as- 
pects of  life  are  but  parts  of  the  whole,  as 
mountain  spurs  belong  to  one  range,  rivers 
to  a  single  system.  Browning,  no  less  than 
Emerson,  is  the  poet  of  unity.  A  psycho- 
logist, he  refers  the  tangled  threads  of  human 
life  to  a  single  skein.  To  him,  it  is  one 
primal  mind-stuff,  undergoing  an  evolution 
in  the  multiplicity  of  persons.  What  any 
man  is,  we  might  be  under  the  same  circum- 
stances. With  understanding  comes  tolerance 
and  patience.  These  prophets  of  the  real, 
of  unity  in  diversity,  conveying  to  us  intima- 
tions of  a  divine  estate,  cause  us  to  vibrate 
to  their  spiritual  strain. 

There  is  no  overstating  the  force  of  ideals, 
and  it  is  as  great  a  folly  to  associate  with 
indifferent  books  as  with  cheap  persons. 
That  some  men  should  value  their  leisure  so 
little  as  to  devote  it  to  the  books  they  do  is 
surprising  enough.  Not  everything  between 
covers  is  a  book;  books  are  few  and  for  com- 
pany. They  must  be  worth  our  time  or  the 
more  fools  we  for  giving  it.     If  it  is  to  be  a 


Reading  147 

story,  let  us  have  a  good  tale  by  a  prince  of 
story  tellers;  if  it  be  philosophy,  a  sane  and 
helpful  one;  if  poetry,  inspired  verse;  biogra- 
phy, then  the  life  of  a  man.  Thought  is  the 
mind's  food,  and  yet  much  of  the  world's 
reading  is  a  diet  of  lollypops  and  much  of  its 
philosophy  and  religion,  milk  and  water. 
Books  were  better  written  out  of  doors  in  the 
presence  of  the  sane  woods  and  fields  than 
in  any  house.  Give  us  robust  thinkers  who 
write  because  they  must.  Give  us  those 
who  work  for  the  love  of  the  work,  for  love 
of  beauty:  athletes  and  pioneers,  and  not 
sick  men  and  moral  degenerates.  As  for 
style,  the  gem  will  stand  any  amount  of 
polishing,  and  surely  art  is  long;  but  the  first 
consideration  is  to  have  something  worth 
the  saying.  We  have  a  great  many  clever 
workmen  in  these  accomplished  days,  but 
they  work  with  glass  beads  only ;  many  well- 
finished  trinkets,  but  only  genius  produces  a 
polished  gem.  The  crying  need  of  the  age 
is  fewer  books.  Would  that  some  Caliph 
Omar  might  invade  our  shores  and  burn  the 
libraries  of  trash. 

For  a  growing  class  of  neurastheniacs  and 
degenerates  we  have  an  abundant  supply  of 
pathologic    literature — books    dealing    with 


148  Resources 

moral  diseases.  The  world  is  conceived  by 
these  writers  to  be  a  general  hospital.  The 
reader  is  invited  to  a  moral  clinic.  We  have 
neurotic  heroes  and  heroines  moving  in  a 
society  of  cynical  roues.  This  is  art;  this 
realism!  Well,  let  us  have  nature  then,  and 
leave  art  for  the  asylum.  For  mark  you, 
we  of  the  mountains  and  the  desert — tanned 
and  robust — have  no  stomach  for  the  dis- 
secting room  or  the  insane  ward.  If  you 
cannot  give  us  men  of  sound  heart  and 
sound  passion  in  your  books  we  prefer  to 
read  tales  of  dogs  and  wolves.  Alasi  the 
truculent  spirit  of  sensationalism  has  invaded 
the  woods  also,  and  there  are  no  longer  real 
wolves  and  bears. 

Why  is  it  we  have  such  a  taste  for  fiction, 
when  fact  is  stranger  and  more  inspiring? 
What  paper  heroes  have  we  to  compare  with 
the  Spanish  padres  who  traversed  the  Ameri- 
can deserts  alone,  armed  only  with  the 
cross?  Great  is  advertising,  in  books  as  in 
other  things,  and  mighty  is  the  pen  of  the 
skilful  advertiser.  We  no  longer  know  what 
to  think  till  we  have  read  the  morning  paper. 
We  buy  our  opinions  for  a  cent;  our  tastes 
and  our  diseases  are  a  matter  of  hypnotism. 
"Have   you    read    the   last   novel?"     These 


Reading  149 

novels  are  like  the  soups  of  Italian  inns. 
It  is  always  hot  water  and  macaroni,  but 
they  vary  the  shape  of  the  macaroni.  It  is 
one  day  little  squares,  again  little  circles, 
anon  the  alphabet.  So  have  we  one  novel 
appearing  day  after  day  in  a  new  guise;  a 
swarm,  but  one  genus,  one  species.  Eph- 
emera all !  and  if  you  have  caught  and  exam- 
ined one  May-fly  before  it  dies— it  will 
answer. 

As  for  the  newspapers — what  can  possibly 
happen  to  any  man  anywhere  that  did  not 
happen  in  imperial  Rome  or  ancient  Baby- 
lon? It  is  the  same  corruption,  the  same 
scandal,  the  same  sleep  walking  now  that 
it  was  then,  but  it  is  better  advertised. 
The  political  outlook  is  the  same  as  it  was  in 
Nineveh — and  what  has  become  of  Nineveh? 
Verily  there  is  no  new  thing  under  the  sun. 
Men  are  no  better  and  no  worse,  but  more 
of  them  are  better,  that  is  the  cheering  sign 
of  the  times.  The  evolution  of  the  mind 
goes  on  apace  because  of  reading,  and  in 
spite  of  it.  The  mills  of  the  gods  are  grinding. 
Works  the  potter  at  his  wheel.  All  the  clay 
of  the  Roman  Empire  to  form  one  emperor 
that  should  not  be  forgotten;  all  the  clay 
of  ancient  Greece  for  a  philosopher  or  two. 


150  Resources 

Yet  from  the  star  of  antiquity,  long  since 
ashes,  streams  upon  us  still  some  effulgent 
rays  we  name  art  and  philosophy,  as  the 
light  yet  reaches  us  from  those  immeasurably 
distant  suns  which  became  extinct  before 
Rome  was  founded. 

True,  we  can  no  more  do  without  news- 
papers than  without  tubs.  Products  of  evo- 
lution, both  are  among  the  chief  agents  of 
civilisation.  It  is  too  much  to  expect  that 
papers  should  be  edited  by  philosophers, 
psychologists,  and  philanthropists.  It  is  not 
too  much  to  demand  that  they  should  give 
us  fact,  and  not  fiction  in  the  name  of  fact; 
that  they  should  minister  to  the  desires  of 
a  rational  and  healthy,  not  a  neurotic  and  dis- 
eased public  mind.  Why  dip  each  morning  into 
a  flood  of  crime  and  casualty  in  the  columns 
of  the  paper  any  more  than  into  a  tub  filled 
from  the  sewer  rather  than  from  the  springs  ? 
Possessing  a  power  for  good  which  is  immense 
they  have  none  the  less  fostered  in  the  public 
consciousness  love  of  the  sensational  and 
criminal.  They  have  thrown  human  flesh 
to  the  tigers,  and  now  the  beasts  mow  and 
growl  and  lick  their  chops.  Quite  as  much 
as  any  pure  food  law — beneficent  as  that 
may  be — do  we  need  a  pure  thought  law; 


Reading  151 

and  with  all  our  sanitary  precautions  why 
not  some  supervision  of  the  mental  health? 
The  antidotes  for  this   overweening  love 
of  exaggeration,  of  sensationalism,  this  ten- 
dency to  take  refuge  in  fiction  rather  than 
in  reality,   are   the   books  of   the   scientists 
and  naturalists.     It  is  true,  alas,  that  fiction 
and  sensationalism  have  invaded  natural  his- 
tory, but  there  are  quacks  in  every  profession ; 
true,  also,  that  science  has  its  dogmas,  but 
its   votaries    are    pre-eminently   apostles   of 
truth,  the  faithful  and  devoted  few  in  a  world 
of  shams.     Above  any  other  class  of  men  do 
your  scientists — geologists,  astronomers,  phy- 
sicists, philologists,  and  archaeologists — work 
for  love  of  the  work ;  above  all  others  do  they 
aim  at  the  truth  and  are  content  with  the 
truth.     Astronomer  and  geologist  know  very 
well  that  they  cannot  possibly  conceive  of 
anything    more    marvellous    than    the    facts 
which  confront  them  and  which  they  patiently 
work  to  lay  bare;  these  they  could  not  exag- 
gerate if  they  would.     The  attitude  of  science 
is  rectitude,  precision,  consecration.     It  aims 
to  arrive  not  at  conclusions  that  please  but 
at  conclusions  that  are  just;  and  if  it  fail,  it 
is  an  honest  failure.     If  it  is  too  material, 
it  is  at  the  same  time  a  good  friction  brake 


152 


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to  a  credulous  public,  ready  to  believe  any 
nonsense.  Dealing  exclusively  with  a  sensu- 
ous world,  it  will  not  hear  of  anything  it 
cannot  weigh  or  measure.  But  the  leaven 
of  the  spirit  is  ever  working.  Already  matter 
has  become  very  intangible  to  the  doctors 
of  mathematics  and  physics.  Slowly  science 
is  being  forced  out  of  its  materialistic  rut, 
and  when  it  comes  to  stand  for  things  spirit- 
ual, as  come  it  must,  it  will  be  with  the 
assurance  of  the  sage  and  not  the  cant  of 
the  theologian. 

In  conclusion,  what  better  can  be  said 
than  that  reading  should  be  an  aid  to  thought, 
not  a  substitute  for  thinking.  Do  you  read 
to  lose  or  to  find  yourself?  As  much  as  we 
can  assimilate  in  books  serves  us;  more  gives 
mental  indigestion.  Philosophy  is  exercise 
for  the  reason,  poetry  for  the  emotion,  his- 
tory and  biography,  tales  of  travellers  in  life. 
No  book  can  do  more  than  teach  us  to  think 
and  bring  into  activity  unused  areas  of  the 
mind  and  brain.  Reading  is  a  part  of  the 
process  of  self-discovery.  Books  are  com- 
pany ;  choose  then,  to  be  with  gentlemen  and 
men  of  taste  in  Letters.  A  library — a  library 
card — is  an  entree  to  the  most  distinguished 
society  as  well  as  to  much  that  is  stupid  and 


Reading  153 

vulgar.  What  a  charming  significance  in 
belle-lettres — beautiful  thoughts,  taste,  work- 
manship; something  far  away  from  the 
sordid  and  mean;  a  world  of  delicate  per- 
ceptions and  half-sensuous,  half-spiritual 
influences, — rare,  exquisite,  and  admirable! 
What  the  telescope  is  to  the  astronomer, 
books  are  to  the  inquiring  mind,  revealing 
new  worlds.  We  read,  not  so  much  to  lose 
ourselves  in  starry  spaces,  as  to  enlarge  our 
own  domain.  For  what  any  man  has  writ- 
ten, proceeded  from  that  mind  common  to 
us,  and  our  excursions  in  books  are  but  self- 
explorations  to  the  end  of  a  larger  domain 
within  ourselves. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MUSIC 

TT  was  a  beautiful  idea  of  Plato's  that  the 
*  Soul,  being  native  to  the  realm  of  beauty, 
on  coming  into  this  world  is  haunted  by 
memories  of  its  lost  estate  and  goes  about 
ever  seeking  to  regain  it.  Of  somewhat 
similar  purport  is  the  Indian  allegory  of  the 
prince  taken  in  infancy  from  his  father's 
palace  and  brought  up  by  cowherds,  but 
gradually  becoming  aware  that  the  squalid 
life  in  which  he  found  himself  was  not  his 
own.  Princes  are  we  of  the  royal  blood,  in- 
heritors of  the  kingdom,  but  wanderers  all 
on  a  foreign  shore.  Dull  and  besotted  must 
he  be  who  has  never  yearned  for  the  father- 
land, the  home  of  the  Soul.  Of  that  world, 
music,  not  less  than  religion  and  philosophy, 
is   an  intimation. 

Music  above  all  other  arts  is  psychological. 
Wagner  showed  his  genius  not  more  in  the 
character  of  his  motifs,  than  in  that  psycho- 

154 


Music  155 

logical  subtlety  with  which  he  correlates  the 
motif  with  the  immediate  thought  and  feeling 
of  the  actor  or  with  the  events  of  the  drama. 
These  motifs  are  to  be  interpreted  as  the 
actual  emotions  experienced — emotions  made, 
not  visible,  but  audible.  In  Tristan,  for  in- 
stance, the  music  is  the  very  passion  itself, 
as  if  Tristan  and  Isolde  thought  not  in 
words,  but  in  notes.  In  the  Trilogy,  the 
import  is  cosmical  and  there  are  felt,  as  per- 
haps in  no  other  music,  intimations  of  the 
Soul's  apparent  wandering  in  the  pheno- 
menal, with  the  dim  recognition  of  its  own 
imperishable  world  of  beauty. 

The  ear  of  genius  hears  ever  and  anon  the 
Walhalla  motif,  the  divine,  calling  to  the 
human.  "The  sane,"  it  has  been  said,  "al- 
ways hear  music."  We  are  deafened  by  the 
discords  of  the  world,  the  clamour  of  our 
inharmonious  thoughts.  Were  we  completely 
sane,  were  we  in  perfect  tune,  doubtless 
we  should  hear  the  morning  stars  singing 
together. 

Life  eternal  is  itself  harmony — harmony 
which  is  the  principle  of  the  universe.  But 
in  our  living  we  are  so  many  discordant 
instruments,  afflicting  ourselves  with  the 
scraping  of   strings,   the  wheezing  of  horns. 


1 56  Resources 

Harmony  is  complete  and  immutable ;  in  us  is 
the  friction.  If  we  will  but  tune  our  yEolian 
harps,  the  winds  shall  play  for  us.  Alas! 
no  human  instrument  remains  long  in  accord. 
It  is  not  we  who  create  harmony,  but  har- 
mony which  uses  us.  Not  even  the  master 
can  play  upon  a  poor  violin,  and  beauty, 
which  is  inner  and  spiritual,  becomes  audible 
and  visible  only  through  mediums  which  are 
in  the  nature  of  things  imperfect.  Hence  it 
is  that : 

Heard  melodies  are  sweet,  but  those  unheard  are 
sweeter. 

Socrates,  being  admonished  in  dreams  to 
study  music,  reflected  that  philosophy  was 
itself  the  best  music.  But  music  is  feeling, 
not  reason.  If  beauty  is  truth,  then  is  music 
a  feeling  for  the  eternal  beauty,  as  philosophy 
is  a  feeling  for  the  eternal  reason.  To  the 
emotional  temperament,  all  perceptions  tend 
to  resolve  themselves  into  feeling.  Without 
temperament  there  can  be  philosophy  but 
there  can  be  no  music.  The  world  has  never 
been  swayed  solely  by  reason  and  never  will 
be.  It  has  been  governed  more  by  undis- 
ciplined feeling.  Now  the  ideal  of  art  is  the 
disciplined  feeling  for  beauty.     Ail  art  then, 


Music  157 

and  all  philosophy,  are  an  attempt — a  partial 
realisation,  an  imperfect  expression — of  that 
which  is  perfect.  Perfection  alone  is  eternal 
and  unseen;  its  expression  must  be  temporal. 
"I,  the  imperfect,  adore  my  own  perfect." 
Thus  might  genius  ever  exclaim.  We  do 
not  see,  as  Jesus  saw,  that  religion  is  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  realisation  of  the  eternal. 
As  the  pure  in  heart  shall  see  God,  so  shall 
the  mind  in  accord  with  itself  see  beauty. 
We  see  in  part,  darkly  through  the  glass  of 
illusion,  but  let  us  remember  when  it  is  dark- 
est that  truth,  that  harmony,  is  the  enduring 
reality. 

This  groping  for  the  imperishable  ideal 
in  a  world  of  imperfections  has  produced 
all  that  is  best  in  art.  While  poets  and 
musicians  have  lamented  the  shadow  of  a 
passing  world,  they  have  exclaimed  in  the 
light  of  a  changeless  sun: 

Rejoice,  we  are  allied  to  that  which  doth  provide 
and  not  partake. 

No  more  beautiful  lament  has  the  world  ever 
known  than  the  music  of  Chopin,  the  swan 
song  of  a  poet,  of  a  nation.  The  intricacy 
of  his  harmonies  was  in  ratio  to  the  com- 
plexity of  his  emotions.    Ravished  by  beauty, 


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he  yet  fed  on  melancholy,  discovering  new 
combinations  of  notes  in  the  effort  to  portray 
the  extreme  subtlety  of  his  feeling,  and  so, 
framing  from  three  sounds,  "not  a  fourth 
sound,  but  a  star."  Over  the  North  and  in 
the  heart  of  its  people  broods  the  spirit  of 
sadness.  By  some  strange  fatality,  it  is 
the  sorrow  of  life,  rather  than  its  joy,  which 
has  produced  the  best  music.  It  is  perhaps 
because  the  world  is  less  bright  that  the  mind 
seeks  solace  more  readily  in  an  inner  sphere 
of  melody.  Music,  like  religion,  has  its 
birth,  not  in  outer  prosperity  and  sunshine 
but  in  travail  and  darkness.  It  is  native 
to  the  land  of  the  pine  rather  than  that  of 
the  palm. 

Like  religion,  too,  it  is  not  of  this  world, 
but  a  refuge,  opening  the  door  to  worlds 
more  beautiful.  The  great  composers  have 
been  magicians,  their  compositions  cabalistic 
inscriptions,  magic  formulas,  whose  effect 
passes  the  bounds  of  all  other  enchantment. 
Coarse  indeed  are  opiates  and  wine  compared 
to  the  spiritual  stimulus  of  music — music 
which  will  not  bear  translation,  but  is  itself 
a  language,  the  most  subtle,  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  all;  it  is  perhaps  the  speech  of  an 
invisible  and  superior   race,   imperfectly   re- 


Music  159 

vealed  to  us,  and  to  whom  our  rude  dialects 
are  as  the  inarticulate  cries  of  the  dumb. 
Perchance  it  is  our  native  tongue,  the  language 
of  the  spiritual  world,  that  Fatherland  from 
which  we  strayed  to  become  imprisoned  here 
in  matter.  So  it  may  be  that  the  harmonies 
of  the  masters  are  memories  no  less  than 
prophecies. 

Music,  then,  in  its  higher  and  purer  forms 
is  peculiarly  a  resource  because  of  its  other- 
worldliness,  speaking  to  us  not  of  that  which 
we  know,  but  of  that  which  we  feel,  of  which 
our  intuition  rather  than  our  experience 
apprises  us.  The  appeal  which  it  makes  to 
the  receptive  mind  differentiates  it  from  all 
other  impressions.  Sensuous  inasmuch  as 
we  require  an  ear;  intellectual  in  that  we 
need  a  cultivated  ear ;  it  is  essentially  spiritual 
because  what  we  hear  will  depend  on  what 
we  are — upon  the  possession  of  an  inner  ear, 
the  realisation  of  an  inner  life.  Men  are 
born  musicians,  as  they  are  born  poets,  and  a 
master  of  technic  is  not  necessarily  a  musi- 
cian, any  more  than  a  professor  of  philosophy 
is  a  philosopher. 

That  bits  of  wood  and  brass  and  a  few  gut 
strings,  in  themselves  grossly  material,  should, 
when  cunningly  contrived  and  manipulated, 


160  Resources 

conduce  to  a  result  in  its  nature  so  immaterial, 
is  perhaps  no  more  astonishing  than  that  the 
spirit  should  fashion  for  itself  a  body  from 
the  dust.  We  are  ourselves  but  so  many 
instruments,  not  playing  but  played  upon. 
Some  men  are  by  nature  and  fitness  no  more 
than  drums  and  cymbals;  some  have  the 
quality  of  wood-winds,  others  of  violins  and 
cellos.  Few  have  been  the  Cremonas.  When 
we  consider  that  not  only  must  there  be  in- 
vented and  perfected  instruments  which  shall 
produce  qualities  of  sound,  as  unlike  as  that 
of  oboes  and  cornets,  bassoons  and  cellos, 
flutes  and  violins,  harps  and  horns ;  but  that 
there  must  be  evolved  skilful  performers  and 
a  genius  of  harmony  to  compose  symphonies 
for  them  to  play,  we  may  affirm  that  music, 
the  latest  of  the  arts,  evinces  as  much  as 
ought  else  the  progress  of  man  towards  the 
spirit. 

The  power  to  make  us  forget  the  world  of 
sense,  while  opening  the  door  to  some  king- 
dom of  harmony  and  the  ideal,  is  the  property 
of  the  most  exalted  music  only.  At  times, 
the  masters  rose  above  the  earth,  and  com- 
posed not  in  this  world,  but  in  that  other 
whose  idiom  they  used.  In  our  divine 
moods,  or  when  the  heart  is  heavy,  we  gladly 


Music  161 

escape  through  the  door  which  they  have 
opened.  This  is  not  the  music  of  humanity, 
but  rather  of  divinity.  Below  lies  the  whole 
range  of  distinctly  human  and  sensuous 
music;  not  less  a  resource,  but  a  resource  of 
a  different  kind,  for  it  emphasises  in  place  of 
offering  escape  from  the  human  element,  its 
joy  and  sorrow,  its  comedy  and  tragedy. 

A  poem  may  appeal  by  its  rhythm  and 
metre  quite  independently  of  any  idea  it 
contains,  and  in  so  far  as  it  does  this  it  is 
music.  As  native  to  us  as  the  sense  of  hearing 
is  the  sense  of  rhythm,  hardly  less  than  self- 
consciousness  a  distinguishing  quality  of  the 
human  mind.  Man  is  more  susceptible  to 
rhythm  than  to  reason.  Both  are  cosmic, 
but  while  his  mind  awakens  slowly  to  the 
immortal  reason,  it  responds  instinctively  to 
the  universal  rhythm.  He  knows  it  first 
in  the  beat  of  the  heart  and  feels  it  in  the 
songs  of  the  cricket  and  the  hyla,  the  soughing 
of  the  pine,  the  thunder  of  the  surf.  Men 
danced  and  sang  long  before  they  read,  and 
the  music  of  the  people  is  an  echo  of  far  off 
times,  of  primitive  man,  nay  of  the  sylvan 
foreworld  of  fawn  and  satyr.  They  have 
not  such  good  reason  who  scorn  the  popular 
music,  the  "rag  time"  of  the  day,  for  this, 


162  Resources 

too,  has  somewhat  of  primeval  vigour  and 
savagery  and,  in  its  swinging  rhythm,  ap- 
peals not  only  to  some  element  of  boldness 
but  resurrects  in  us  the  sense  of  freedom.  Let 
us  have  by  all  means  this  "barbaric  yawp" 
sounding  its  clarion  call  to  over-conventional- 
ised minds.  Society  has  grown  timid  because 
of  property;  the  people  have  not,  having 
nothing  to  lose,  and  the  insolent  hurdy-gurdy, 
flinging  its  bold  defiance  in  deafening  and 
rhythmical  waves  in  the  city  streets,  voices 
the  ancestral  savagery  in  their  hearts. 

Much  nonsense  is  current  about  sacred 
and  secular  music.  As  if  the  average  hymn 
were  not  profane  for  its  heaviness  and  medi- 
ocrity and  a  nocturne  of  Chopin  divine  for 
its  inspiration  and  beauty.  Sacred  music  is 
often  enough  consecrated,  neither  to  the  next 
world  nor  to  this,  but  to  the  Church  merely. 
Conventional  and  uninspired  like  our  prayers 
and  our  sermons,  it  invokes  no  muse.  It  is 
not  the  song  of  the  spirit,  free  and  untram- 
melled ;  it  is  not  the  song  of  health  and  cour- 
age, but  of  weakness  and  despair.  "There 
is  no  health  in  us,"  we  whine,  and  the  gods 
are  deaf.  That  is  truly  sacred  music  which 
sounds  the  triumph  of  the  Spirit,  not  the 
weakness    of    the    flesh.     If    religion    means 


i 


Music  163 

anything  it  means  this, — that  where  the 
Spirit  of  the  Lord  is,  there  is  liberty,  there  is 
strength.  Let  us  harken  then  to  some  Wal- 
halla  motif;  let  us  have  the  song  of  the  Soul. 
Heaven  is  harmony — now  and  hereafter. 
And  if  we  truly  seek  God,  in  church  or  out 
of  it,  it  shall  be  by  addressing  ourselves  to 
harmony. 

Universal  is  the  power  of  suggestion. 
Whether  we  think  harmony  in  words  or  in 
notes,  it  is  one,  its  reaction  the  same.  As  a 
discord  is  a  shock  to  the  ear,  a  discordant 
thought  is  a  shock  to  the  mind  and  the  nerves. 
Some  minds,  like  some  ears,  are  less  sensitive 
to  this,  as  certain  people  are  colour-blind  or 
lack  the  sense  of  smell. 

As  vibrations  will  crystallise  steel  and 
destroy  its  usefulness,  so  will  discordant 
waves  weaken  the  structure  of  the  mind, 
crystallising,  it  may  be,  the  cells  of  the  brain. 
The  science  of  thought  like  the  science  of 
harmony  is  based  upon  fundamental  laws 
which  cannot  be  violated  without  produ- 
cing confusion.  The  suggestion  of  harmony, 
whether  the  harmonic  waves  are  communi- 
cated through  music  or  through  speech  or 
through  the  eye,  makes  for  sanity  and  for 
health.     There    is    good    reason    why    music 


1 64  Resources 

should  have  some  therapeutic  value.  If  it 
will  charm  the  serpent  and  soothe  the  savage 
breast,  it  has  power  to  dispel  negative 
emotion,  as  light  dispels  darkness. 

All  is  hypnotism.  Life  is  a  mesmeric  sleep 
where  one  state  of  mind  follows  another, 
induced  by  afferent  impressions.  Of  the 
many  influences  which  play  upon  us  music 
is  one  of  the  most  potent.  Our  feet  move 
to  the  dance;  our  heads  are  bowed  to  the 
dirge.  Men  whose  infancy  was  soothed 
by  lullaby s  are  inflamed  by  battle  hymns. 
Enough  that  it  may  charm  in  us  the  serpent 
of  care;  that  it  open  to  us  its  beautiful  Utopia. 
But  the  increasing  complexity  of  our  emo- 
tional life  has  kept  pace  with  the  growing 
complexity  of  our  civilisation.  We  no  longer 
do  anything  simply.  Like  the  drunkard 
we  crave  more  and  more  stimulant.  We  are 
emotional  topers;  we  wish  for  that  in  music 
as  in  literature  which  shall  excite  rather  than 
satisfy  our  emotion.  The  world  must  be 
melodramatic  to  be  interesting.  Hence  the 
general  decadence  of  the  nervous  system  of 
a  race,  strained  and  snapped  by  the  intensity 
of  its  life.  We  no  more  listen  to  a  Haydn 
duo  than  we  read  the  stories  of  Jane  Austen. 
There   is  need  of  sedatives  to  our  emotion 


Music  165 

rather  than  so  much  stimulant.  Listening 
recently  to  chamber  music,  as  classical  as  it 
was  unemotional,  I  came  away  relieved  tem- 
porarily of  the  burden  of  feeling  and  calmed 
as  by  a  philosophic  discourse.  According 
with  an  old  fashioned  simplicity  and  direct- 
ness of  life,  rather  than  with  our  present 
complexity,  it  made  a  pure  emotionalism 
seem  highly  coloured  and  almost  vulgar. 

Beneficent  is  the  music,  the  poetry,  which 
encourages  quiet  and  pastoral  moods,  in 
sympathy  with  green  fields,  pleasant  mead- 
ows, and  still  waters,  with  flocks  of  sheep 
and  smiling  vineyards,  with  piping  shep- 
herds and  the  pursuits  of  the  humble;  which 
recalls  for  us  the  sweet  morning  of  youth 
with  its  simple  and  natural  pleasures.  It 
is  this  which  renews  in  us  for  a  fleeting  mo- 
ment the  heart  of  a  child,  restoring  that  which 
a  proud  and  foolish  world  and  our  own  vanity 
have  been  at  pains  to  deprive  us — the  king- 
dom of  heaven. 

How  remote  is  the  true  world  of  music 
from  the  "musical  world"  with  its  cavilling 
schools,  its  carping  critics,  its  professional 
pride  and  egotism.  Pharisaism  casts  its  grim 
shadow  over  all.  But  only  the  pure  in  heart 
see  the  ideal,  and  he  who  loves  praise  above 


1 66  Resources 

truth,  and  flattery  above  beauty,  shall  hardly 
enter  in  at  the  door.  There  is  no  serving 
two  masters;  beauty  demands  all.  If  there 
be  not  consecration,  she  slowly  withdraws 
into  her  own  world  leaving  the  unfaithful, 
they  who  loved  themselves  more  than  they 
loved  her,  the  world  above  their  work,  to 
perish  of  the  affliction  common  to  little  men 
in  art — the  disease  of  egotism. 

Let  us  not  neglect  the  woods  and  fields,  for 
there  we  hear  the  music  of  sanity  and  the 
chant  of  the  earth  forever  rejuvenating  her- 
self. Soothing  and  companionable  are  the 
murmuring  brook,  the  pattering  rain,  and 
rustling  leaves ;  sweet  and  humble  songs  which 
renew  in  us  the  poetic  vision  and  the  sense  of 
peace.  Redwing  in  the  swamp  and  robins 
in  the  orchard  voice  the  spring  song  in  our 
hearts.  We  are  lyrical  with  oriole  and  gros- 
beak, cheerful  and  content  with  the  chickadee, 
serene  and  exalted  with  hermit  and  wood- 
thrush.  The  songs  of  the  ruby  kinglet  and 
the  winter  wren  appeal  to  that  in  us  which  is 
Arcadian  still;  the  simple  lay  of  song  and 
vesper  sparrows,  to  our  primitive  and  pastoral 
selves.  That  which  inspires  this  minstrelsy 
is  the  source  of  our  own  inspiration  as  well. 
In  the  subconscious  depths  of  our  being  we 


Music  167 

are  still  primitive  man.  And  if  perchance 
we  once  dwelt  in  some  Arcadia,  then  in  us 
lingers  the  ineradicable  memory  responding 
to  the  pure  lyric  of  the  fields.  In  these  bird 
voices,  Orpheus  ever  calls  to  his  Eurydice  in 
us. 

Even  trees  have  their  songs  and  find  expres- 
sion in  this  way.  Lofty  pines  of  the  primeval 
forest  are  never  silent  but,  having  ascended 
into  some  sphere  of  unceasing  melody,  convey 
its  message  to  the  listener  below  in  sylvan 
chants.  They  thus  symbolise  in  their  melo- 
dious state  the  genius  of  the  musician  whose 
faculties,  ascending  into  the  empyrean,  trans- 
mit to  this  world  the  trump  of  its  harmonies, 
the  language  of  that  higher  world  to  which 
his  muse  has  lead  him. 

Nature  would  have  us  melodic,  and  the 
Soul  admonishes  us  to  attune  our  harps  to 
celestial  airs.  Poor  is  that  life  which  has 
no  melody,  no  song;  which  finds  no  channel 
for  its  hidden  springs,  no  outlet  for  its  feeling. 
Few  have  the  great  gift ;  few  are  the  master- 
singers,  but  at  least  we  may  vibrate  to  their 
harmonies  and  mingle  with  them  in  that 
melodious  sphere  which  is  no  more  theirs 
than  ours,  but  the  heritage  of  mankind.  As 
the  violin  improves  with  use,  even  so  we  are 


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mellowed  as  we  become  expressive.  Melody 
is  sweetness;  harmony  is  peace.  From  our 
discords  we  shall  take  refuge  in  these  as  in  a 
holy  place.  Out  of  sorrow,  aye,  out  of  the 
brooding  sorrow  of  the  world,  has  come  its 
redemption.  The  axe  was  laid  at  the  root 
of  the  tree  that  a  Cremona  might  have  being, 
that  the  wish  of  the  master  might  take  form. 
If  humanity  has  agonised  and  endured  that 
music  should  come  into  the  world,  in  the 
god-like  child  thus  born  it  shall  find  its 
solace.  Music,  which  is  of  heaven,  descended 
upon  earth  only  in  answer  to  the  yearning  of 
the  human  heart;  and  only  as  we  have  lived 
and  suffered  shall  we  fully  enjoy. 


CHAPTER   XIII 
MONEY 

THOREAU'S  asseveration  that  he  would 
not  be  so  busy  getting  a  living  that  he 
had  no  time  to  live  supplies  a  wise  text  for  a 
sermon  on  money.  If  it  was  a  pertinent  com- 
ment in  his  day,  how  much  more  in  this? 
For  that  matter  times  change  little.  The 
world,  always  engrossed  in  what  it  calls 
getting  a  living,  has  never  yet  had  time  to 
live.  So  rapidly  do  wants  increase  that  the 
luxuries  of  one  age  are  the  necessities  of  the 
next.  Whereas  the  supply  of  gold  has  greatly 
augmented,  it  buys  less  and  we  must  have 
more  of  it.  In  the  richest  age  in  history  we 
have  come  upon  hard  times,  because  our 
needs  are  much  greater  than  ever  before  and 
none  are  willing  to  simplify  the  matter  by 
reducing  their  wants. 

"If  Mithila  my  capital,  is  inflames"  said 
the  ancient  mystic,   "nothing  that   is  mine 

will  be  consumed" — a  state  of  mind  inex- 

169 


170  Resources 

plicable  and  absurd  to  the  man  whose  income 
is  subject  to  the  news  from  Russia  or  the 
weather  in  Montana  and  who,  far  from  seeking 
first  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  is  content  to 
leave  that  for  his  death-bed.  Yet  this  same 
man  discovers  all  too  late  that  he  has  missed 
the  pearl  of  great  price;  that  all  his  life  he 
has  cherished  the  symbol  and  overlooked 
the  reality,  pursued  the  shadow  and  lost  the 
substance.  His  knowledge  dies  with  him, 
for  this,  no  son  inherits  from  his  father,  no 
age  from  the  preceding.  Young  America 
fails  where  failed  young  Assyria,  and  the  old 
man  laments,  as  lamented  the  old  men  of 
Nineveh,  that  he  has  gathered  to  himself  not 
wealth  but  money,  not  resources  within  but 
assets  without;  and  with  only  such  external 
means  to  meet  an  inner  and  spiritual  liability, 
he  dies  bankrupt,  as  have  died  a  million 
million  sad  old  men  before  him. 

Only  by  comparison  with  other  periods 
may  we  hope  to  accurately  gauge  our  own 
times.  That  in  which  we  are  immersed  is 
of  necessity  not  clearly  seen,  and  the  effort 
to  enter  the  spirit  of  another  age  that  we 
may  acquire  perspective  in  viewing  the  present 
is  instructive.  Indeed  it  would  be  well  could 
we  step  off  the  earth  altogether,  if  for  no 


Money  171 

more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Some 
semblance  of  this  advantage  have  they  who 
ascend  in  balloons ;  they  again  who  as  archae- 
ologists are  made  familiar  with  some  remote 
past;  or,  as  travellers,  with  customs  and 
manners  essentially  different  from  their  own. 

While  there  is  no  record  of  an  age  which 
was  not  in  some  sense  commercial,  no  other 
has  been  as  completely  and  abnormally  so 
as  the  present.  Literature,  music,  art,  re- 
ligion, politics — all  that  should  be  free  from 
the  commercial  spirit — are  tainted;  every 
stream  is  polluted.  Our  creed  is  to  get  rich; 
we  are  money  mad.  We  own  everything  but 
ourselves ;  control  everything  but  our  minds ; 
buy  everything  but  health  and  happiness. 
The  root  of  the  evil  is  not  money,  but  love 
of  money  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else;  not 
riches,  but  indifference  to  capacity  which  is 
the  real  wealth;  not  assets,  but  the  failure  to 
develop  inner  resources.  We  are  the  victims 
of  a  false  and  vulgar  ideal,  and  this  is  the 
substance  of  the  whole  matter.  It  is  in  the 
air  that  to  have  money  is  to  have  everything, 
and  only  the  Lord  shall  change  such  a  belief. 

While  the  cost  of  living  may  be  increasing, 
the  love  of  display  has  increased  tenfold  more. 
Men  are  slaves  not  less  to  pretence  than  to 


172  Resources 

necessity,  and  under  its  lash  they  truckle  and 
toady,  flatter  and  fawn  upon  each  other, 
dissemble  and  defraud,  and  call  it  business. 
Yet  they  are  indifferent  merchants,  for  it 
is  said  that  ninety-five  per  cent  fail,  while 
some  part  of  the  five  esteemed  most  success- 
ful have  lately  been  convicted  by  the  courts 
of  a  low  and  mean  dishonesty.  What  pro- 
portion of  the  ninety  and  five  surrendered 
their  self-respect  and  their  independence  of 
spirit;  what  proportion  of  them  have  become 
soulless  automata,  mere  wheels  in  the  vast 
and  inexorable  machine  of  business,  abandon- 
ing the  resources  of  the  cultivated  mind  in 
the  attempt  to  gain  the  single  resource  of 
the  uncultivated — the  reports  do  not  show. 
In  its  sociological  aspect,  we  are  presented 
to-day  with  a  curious  spectacle.  The  world 
always  afflicted  with  a  criminal  poor — for 
whom  there  is  much  excuse — is  now  afflicted 
with  the  criminal  rich — for  whom  there  is  no 
excuse  at  all.  The  criminal  poor  are  those 
whose  hand  is  against  society;  but  the  crim- 
inal rich  are  they  who  by  their  acts  undermine 
the  foundations  of  their  own  house,  as  it  is 
for  the  rich  that  society  exists.  The  true 
inference  is,  not  that  a  man  is  naturally 
depraved,   but   that   he   is   more   and   more 


Money  173 

estranged  from  virtue  and  sanity  by  the 
poison  of  a  false  ideal.  Whether  a  man  be 
drunk  with  alcohol  or  with  love  of  money, 
the  end  is  the  same, — the  gradual  breaking 
down  of  moral  barriers.  It  is  a  species  of 
madness  in  either  case.  No  one  is  more 
apt  at  self -justification  than  the  sot,  and 
similarly  your  money-drunkard,  by  a  specious 
reasoning,  has  invented  a  new  code  of  morals 
by  which  to  justify  himself.  His  god  is  the 
great  god  Trade,  and  the  devotee,  like  the 
Aztec  priests  of  Quetzalcoatl,  offers  the  heart 
of  his  fellows  upon  his  smoking  altar.  Tis 
his  religion,  his  way  of  serving  his  god,  his 
mad  worship.  He  justifies  his  perjury,  his 
bribery,  his  chicanery  as  the  Aztec  his  mur- 
der— in  the  name  of  his  god.  Thou  shalt 
love  the  Lord  thy  God — does  he  not  so? 
This  sort  of  religion  has  bred  no  heretics,  is 
not  affected  with  scepticism,  but  all  its  old 
men  are  cynics. 

We  might  take  a  gloomy  view  of  this  mad- 
ness which  afflicts  our  age,  this  fanatical  wor- 
ship of  a  false  god,  and  sigh  for  the  good  old 
days  of  honest  bandits,  in  place  of  the  sleek 
hypocrites  of  the  twentieth  century,  did  not 
the  trend  of  events  assure  us  of  the  sound 
heart  of  mankind.     We  are  not  all  mad;  we 


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do  not  all  love  money  above  honour  and 
decency  and  civic  righteousness.  There  is 
enough  rude  health  in  society  to  withstand 
the  attacks  of  fever  and  delirium  and  to 
arise  and  renew  itself.  This  much  we  have 
demonstrated,  as  the  earthquake  revealed  the 
fitness  and  reliability  of  the  steel  structure. 

In  an  ancient  classic  which  contains  the 
views,  profound  and  chimerical,  of  a  great 
and  noble  man,  it  is  laid  down  as  a  maxim 
that  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  for  the  poor 
alone.  In  this  country  to-day  the  distinc- 
tion is  not  so  much  of  rich  and  poor,  as  of 
capital  and  labour,  and  organised  labour  is 
more  and  more  the  oppressor  of  rich  and  poor 
alike.  With  less  reason  than  ever  can  it  be 
said  that  for  such  is  the  kingdom.  It  is  safe 
to  infer  that  Jesus  inveighed  against  riches, 
not  for  any  inherent  evil  in  money  itself, 
but  because  of  the  fatal  power  it  possesses 
to  absorb  the  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
nobler  and  more  spiritual  considerations. 
The  doctrine  would  have  been  broader  and 
less  open  to  argument  had  it  announced  at 
the  same  time  the  unquestionable  enriching 
of  the  heart  and  mind  through  the  wise  and 
beneficent  use  of  money. 

This  absorption  is  perhaps  no  more  peculiar 


Money  175 

to  wealth  than  to  poverty — which  shares 
equally  the  love  of  money.  It  is  easier  to 
believe  the  elect  are  neither  the  rich  nor  the 
poor  but  the  wise;  and  whereas  money  does 
not  buy  wisdom,  neither  shall  it  necessarily 
hinder  a  man  from  attaining  it.  The  socialist, 
while  asserting  with  justice  that  some  por- 
tion of  the  successful  five  habitually  defraud 
and  oppress  the  ninety  and  five  less  fortunate, 
fails  to  observe  how  indispensable  to  labour 
are  the  sinews  of  that  capital  he  decries, 
without  which  it  would  be,  not  labour  at  all, 
but  idleness ;  he  fails  again  to  note  how  consid- 
erable a  portion  of  the  unsuccessful  are  insol- 
vent through  their  own  incapacity  and  for 
no  other  reason;  and  he  has  not  shown  that 
the  oppressed  are  more  upright  or  more 
magnanimous  than  the  oppressors.  Rich  and 
poor  change  places  too  often  in  these  days 
to  make  the  distinction  an  abiding  one. 
The  wintry  soul  and  the  measuring  eye  you 
shall  find  in  the  hovel  and  in  the  palace.  If 
the  financier  is  debarred  by  the  cares  and 
vanities  of  his  world  from  the  pursuit  of 
more  profitable  things,  just  as  surely  is  the 
labourer  prevented  by  his  daily  toil. 

The  doctrine  of  poverty,  always  in  evidence 
in  Oriental  religions,  continues  to  find  few  ad- 


176  Resources 

vocates  with  us.  In  the  East  it  was  preached 
as  a  philosophical  rather  than  as  a  socio- 
logical dogma.  Pious  mendicity  is  there  es- 
teemed to  this  day  above  riches  or  power. 
In  renouncing  that  which  is  temporal  and 
worthless,  the  religious  mendicant  is  assumed 
to  have  gained  for  himself  treasure  which  is 
real  and  enduring,  namely  the  perception  of 
the  self — and  self-knowledge  is  the  summum 
bonum;  a  doctrine  no  less  profound  and 
mystical  than  it  is  inexplicable  to  the  mass 
of  mankind. 

That  we  cannot  equally  serve  God  and 
Mammon  is  sufficiently  obvious,  but  that  the 
penniless  serve  God  the  better  for  their 
indigency  has  not  been  proved.  The  self- 
respecting  poor,  the  truly  humble,  have  at 
least  this  in  their  favour,  that  their  lives  are 
less  artificial  and  less  encumbered  with  trifles. 
But  unless  they  are  at  the  same  time  conse- 
crated to  the  ideal  beauty  and  truth,  it  can- 
not be  affirmed  that  they  are  any  nearer  the 
diviner  state  than  the  rich.  Surely  the  toil, 
the  care,  the  grim  and  pitiless  necessity  that 
accompany  an  enforced  and  painful  economy 
little  promote  the  spiritual  welfare.  No 
wonder  that  victims  of  such  poverty  reflect 
upon  the  happiness  of  the  rich,  ignorant  how 


Money  177 

poor  the  rich  may  be  in  wisdom,  in  love,  and 
in  resources  other  than  money. 

As  the  world  grows  richer,  standards  of 
living  necessarily  change.  The  poor  man 
with  a  well-heated  house,  be  it  ever  so  small, 
a  good  reading  lamp,  a  cook  stove,  running 
water,  a  watch,  a  bicycle,  a  free  library  and 
a  free  school,  enjoys  luxuries  such  as  no 
ancient  monarch  had. 

Religion  to-day  is  the  religion  of  good 
works;  the  Church,  a  charitable  organisation. 
Since  the  rich  will  not  desist  from  the  worship 
of  Mammon,  the  Church  has  set  itself  to 
making  that  worship  serve  God  as  well,  by 
ministering  to  the  poor.  It  instructs  the 
rich  that  they  shall  give  bread,  but  it  fails 
to  admonish  the  poor  that  they  cannot  live 
by  bread  alone.  By  these  signs  you  shall 
know  it  is  material  and  not  spiritual — 
ethical,  not  religious.  You  will  hear  men 
affirm  that  the  nation  would  fall  asunder  were 
it  not  for  its  religion.  The  truth  is,  we  have 
little  or  no  religion;  we  have  systems  of 
morals  and  ethics,  essential  indeed,  but  not 
religion.  What  is  charity  to  the  dying,  or 
money  to  the  broken  hearted?  And  how 
shall  you  console  the  rich  who  already  have 
all  things  and  are  not  happy? 


13 


178  Resources 

He  was  indeed  a  wise  man  who  said: — Give 
me  neither  poverty  nor  riches;  for  as  we  are 
pinched  by  want  we  are  burdened  with  excess. 
Only  they  who  have  wealth  realise  how 
limited  is  the  amount  a  man  may  spend 
upon  himself  with  any  satisfaction.  Beyond 
that,  all  is  superfluity ;  added  care  and  respon- 
sibility on  one  hand,  decreasing  enjoyment 
on  the  other.  A  dinner  is  a  dinner,  but  the 
unthinking  look  at  the  rich  and  vainly 
imagine  they  have  satisfaction  in  eating  two 
dinners  at  once.  Only  the  wise  believe  in 
compensation.  To  have  everything  is  to 
anticipate  nothing,  and  who  shall  say  that 
anticipation  is  not  half  the  pleasure.  The 
happiness  of  the  poor  waif  with  its  rag  doll, 
the  indifference  of  the  pampered  child  to  its 
superfluity  of  toys,  are  excellent  commen- 
taries on  life.  We  are  but  grown  up  children, 
the  world  a  nursery,  our  possessions  so  many 
toys.  The  more  things  we  have,  the  less 
is  the  satisfaction  in  any  one  of  them.  Do 
not  believe  that  spoiled  children  are  the 
happiest. 

We  are  taught  the  worth  of  things  but 
not  their  worthlessness.  Few  men  cultivate 
any  true  sense  of  values.  We  are  schooled 
in    appearances,    not    in    realities,    and    age 


Money  179 

arrives  through  disgust  and  ennui  at  facts 
which  would  have  been  patent  to  its  youth 
had  it  been  trained  to  look  below  the  surface. 
We  value  most  what  we  have  not.  Wealth 
is  not  what  it  looks  to  the  poor ;  nor  is  travel 
the  delight  it  might  seem  to  the  stay-at- 
homes;  nor  learning  the  fine  thing  it  appears 
to  the  unlearned.  America  is  bent  on  going 
to  Europe,  but  all  Europe  is  making  haste  to 
escape  to  America.  The  city  man  longs  for 
the  country,  the  country  man  for  the  city. 
Every  man's  lot  is  the  hardest. 

Write  this  then  in  your  heart,  that  the 
worth  of  what  you  have  depends  upon  what 
you  are.  Money  has  just  that  value  we  have 
agreed  to  give  it.  To  a  savage  in  a  jungle, 
it  has  none.  Neither  are  the  dower  of  the 
rich  and  the  dower  of  the  poor  the  same. 
You  may  buy  the  scholar's  book,  but  it  will 
not  be  the  same  book  to  you  as  it  is  to  him; 
you  may  go  into  the  woods  with  the  naturalist 
but  you  will  not  see  the  woods  that  he  sees; 
live  next  door  to  a  philosopher  and  still  be 
as  remote  from  his  world  as  the  East  is  from 
the  West;  buy  your  way  into  society  and 
have  what  you  pay  for — a  patronising  con- 
tempt. That  which  is  not  to  be  bought  you 
will  fail  to  acquire  in  any  instance. 


i  So  Resources 

Let  us  no  longer  exaggerate  the  value  of 
property;  let  us  instead,  if  only  for  variety, 
emphasise  the  worth  of  man.  He  it  is  who 
has  invented  money  to  serve  him,  only  to 
find  it  a  taskmaster.  The  inventor  is  crushed 
by  his  invention.  Let  him  learn  to  regard 
things  with  less  deference  and  no  longer  be 
awed  by  all  the  pompous  shallow-pates  in 
the  name  of  property.  Let  him  scorn  trade 
one  day  in  the  week  at  least  and  worship 
God  the  other  six.  And  with  the  wise  Em- 
peror let  him  bear  in  mind  that  his  purple 
is  but  sheep's  hair  twisted  together  and 
stained  with  the  gore  of  a  little  shell-fish,  his 
Falernian  but  the  juice  of  a  grape,  his  viands 
merely  the  carcass  of  a  pig  or  of  a  fowl. 

By  working  with  his  hands  for  six  weeks, 
Thoreau  found  he  could  earn  enough  to  sup- 
port himself  for  the  remainder  of  the  year, 
devoting  his  leisure  to  study  and  observation. 
He  was  called  a  stoic,  but  rather  was  he  the 
most  pronounced  epicure  of  his  times,  living 
in  the  present  and  sipping  the  sweets  of  every 
day  while  others  postponed  their  lives.  In 
his  journal,  he  comments  dryly  on  being 
criticised  for  aiding  no  poor  family  in  the 
village  while  thus  living  in  ease  himself. 
Yet  he  taught  a  lesson  to  the  spiritual  poor 


Money  181 

the  world  over  and  to  that  extent  was  a  bene- 
factor of  his  race.  By  the  extent  of  his  re- 
sources and  the  richness  of  his  inner  life,  he 
showed  how  nearly  superfluous  wealth  may 
become. 

That  which  Thoreau  enjoyed  at  Walden  on 
twenty-seven  cents  a  week,  namely,  leisure 
and  freedom,  few  men  deem  themselves  rich 
enough  to  possess.  Yet  over  and  above  the 
necessities,  what  better  can  money  buy? 
Indeed,  what  greater  necessities  are  there 
than  those,  which  bear  the  same  relation  to 
living  itself  that  other  things  do  to  getting 
a  living?  Since  it  will  not  buy  health  or 
happiness,  money  can  give  nothing  more 
to  be  desired  than  leisure  and  opportunity; 
but  to  enjoy  these  we  must  have  wealth  of 
another  sort.  To  the  men  you  know,  apply 
this  test:  who  can  use  leisure?  for  thus  may 
you  gauge  their  resources.  What  shall  a 
man  of  no  resources  do  with  leisure,  any  more 
than  a  savage  with  bank-notes,  knowing  no 
bank  where  he  may  cash  such  a  draft.  Money 
is  a  means.  It  serves  nobly  such  as  have 
noble  ends  in  view;  it  is  the  destruction  of 
fools.  Nothing  can  be  more  silly  than  the 
unqualified  praise  of  money;  it  is  good  or 
bad  according  to  the  use  made  of  it.     Men 


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without  root  are  soon  withered  in  the  sun  of 
prosperity.  More  die  of  over-eating  than  of 
starvation,  and  men  withstand  hard  times 
more  readily  than  they  do  good  fortune. 
There  is  no  better  test  of  character,  in  a 
nation  or  an  individual,  than  the  affect  of 
prosperity.  With  such  hard  and  practical 
facts  let  us  confront  the  dogma  of  riches, 
believing  it  is  better  that  a  man  should  be 
master  of  himself  than  the  dupe  of  fortune. 
A  few  things  money  teaches:  first,  there 
is  only  so  much  enjoyment  for  each  individual, 
and  superfluities,  in  place  of  increasing  the 
amount,  merely  dilute  it;  second,  extrava- 
gance is  morally  enervating  and  produces 
weariness  and  disgust;  third,  the  proper  use 
of  superfluous  wealth  is  charity,  and  to  do 
good,  to  be  truly  a  benefactor,  requires  wis- 
dom. To  help  a  man  help  himself  is  the  real 
benevolence,  and  whereas  money  may  do 
this  in  one  instance,  it  will  hinder  in  another. 
If  it  requires  ability  to  manage  a  fortune, 
it  needs  character  to  spend  it.  The  spend- 
thrift dissipates  himself  with  his  money,  and 
that  loss  at  least  is  difficult  to  retrieve.  A 
gambler  pays  dear  for  his  winnings ;  the  thief 
steals  from  himself;  the  cunning  are  self- 
deceived.     If  the  world  does  not  admit  this, 


Money  183 

it  is  because  it  esteems  money  of  more  worth 
than  man.  It  assumes  that  while  the  poor 
boy  has  a  hard  time  to  get  on  in  the  world, 
the  way  is  easy  for  a  youth  who  inherits  a 
fortune.  Nothing  could  be  further  from  the 
facts.  There  is  no  greater  handicap  to 
an  undeveloped  character  than  superfluous 
wealth,  which  discourages  effort  and  in- 
creases temptation.  Where  such  a  boy  suc- 
ceeds it  is  by  his  own  effort  and  in  spite  of 
fate;  while  the  self-made  man  is  driven  by 
the  lash  of  necessity.  To  inherit  money  with- 
out inheriting  character  and  judgment  to  go 
with  it  can  only  be  a  misfortune.  Many  such 
misfortunes  are  handed  down  to-day,  and  it 
only  needs  that  the  degenerate  recipients 
become  sufficiently  preponderant  as  a  class 
and  the  backbone  of  a  nation,  whether  it  be 
Rome  or  America,  is  weakened.  Thus  do 
we  invite  our  dissolution  and  usher  in  the  age 
of  the  Receding  Chin. 

To  offset  this  there  disembark  at  Castle 
Garden  every  year,  a  million  or  more  of  the 
hard-headed  and  thick-skinned  of  Europe, 
driven  by  necessity,  and  invading  our  shores 
as  the  Goths  invaded  Rome.  In  some  sense 
it  is  tonic,  but  an  overdose  surely.  Some 
part   of   this   horde   is   incorporated   in    the 


1 84  Resources 

national  fibre  and  will  strengthen  and  re- 
inforce the  structure.  But  our  strength 
should  properly  be  evolved  from  within. 

We  hear  on  every  hand  the  shallow  and 
flagrant  praise  of  wealth  and  display  and  at 
the  same  time  the  unqualified  denunciation 
of  the  rich.  There  is  need  of  wise  and  con- 
servative counsel  on  the  subject  of  money, 
the  uses  of  capital,  and  the  abuses  of  dema- 
gogues. Indispensable  is  the  corporation  to- 
day and  indispensable  is  its  regulation.  It 
is  no  occasion  for  hysteria;  but  the  necessity 
is  greater  than  ever  for  the  promulgation  of 
sound  and  practical  ideals.  In  the  name  of 
all  that  is  Spartan  and  heroic,  let  us  preach 
sanity  and  health.  This  much  does  every 
craftsman  and  every  manufacturer  who  aims 
at  excellence  rather  than  quick  returns, 
every  concern  that  stands  for  legitimate  en- 
terprise and  sound  business  principle,  every 
corporation  that  declines  to  corrupt  the  ballot 
by  political  donations,  every  man  who  works 
for  the  love  of  the  work,  every  sincere  and 
upright  soul  that  refuses  to  be  defiled  in  the 
name  of  money. 

If  any  young  man  to-day  has  time  or  in- 
clination for  reflection,  he  may  well  pause  to 
inquire   for   himself   into   the   nature   of   re- 


Money  185 

sources  and  determine  in  what  sense  and  to 
what  extent  money  is  one. 

Money  he  must  have,  but  how  much  can 
he  afford  to  pay  for  it  in  time  and  energy? 
If  he  be  wise  he  will  conclude  it  is  worth  so 
much  and  no  more,  that  it  cannot  possibly 
be  worth  all  of  any  man's  life,  and  that  only 
a  fool  will  barter  health  or  honour  for  it. 
He  will  see  that  while  it  may  allow  him  to 
indulge  some  hobbies,  and  to  surround  himself 
with  beautiful  things,  this  will  not  greatly 
avail  unless  at  the  same  time  it  gives  him 
leisure  to  enjoy  them  and  to  cultivate  his 
taste;  that  while  it  will  permit  him  to  travel, 
neither  is  this  of  much  account  if  he  must  go 
burdened  with  the  worries  and  details  of  his 
business;  that  it  will  enable  him  to  more 
fully  express  himself  in  the  world,  provided 
there  is  in  him  anything  worthy  of  expression ; 
and  that  while  money  buys  no  friends,  it  may 
sweeten  association  with  men  and  permit 
that  most  comfortable  and  selfish  of  pleasures 
— doing  good. 

He  will  conclude  in  short,  if  he  be  wise, 
that  money  is  an  excellent  thing,  worth  some 
of  his  time  and  thought,  but  not  worth  his 
peace  of  mind;  that  the  toys  of  grown  up 
children  may  be  reckoned  among  the  good 


i86  Resources 

things  of  life,  provided  freedom  is  not  the 
price  paid  for  them,  yet  better  still  are  the 
things  which  are  without  price;  that  if  he 
has  found  his  work  in  life,  money  is  far  from 
being  the  only  good  which  it  yields  and  but 
an  indifferent  resource  compared  to  the  love 
of  the  work  itself;  and  he  will  not  surrender 
the  joy  of  an  independent  spirit  for  the 
wealth  of  Croesus. 

If  any  sturdy  and  self-reliant  man,  heeding 
the  monitions  of  the  Soul,  take  such  a  stand, 
he  shall  see  how  vain  and  foolish  is  the  world's 
opinion,  how  false  its  ideal,  how  shallow  its 
pleasure;  its  success  a  chimera,  its  life  of 
moiling  and  toiling,  a  sleep-walking.  With 
the  help  of  the  gods  he  shall  set  for  himself 
a  new  standard  of  success — a  man's,  not  a 
fool's,  success;  he  shall  aim  first  to  be,  to 
possess  himself,  that  his  money  may  serve 
the  fuller  expression  of  an  inner  worth  in 
place  of  advertising  an  inner  poverty.  And 
if  peradventure  the  gods  have  smiled  upon 
him  in  the  matter  of  this  world's  goods,  he 
shall  not  be  deceived,  being  wise,  into  sup- 
posing the  facts  of  life  are  altered  by  any 
accidents  of  circumstance,  but  shall  go  ear- 
nestly and  serenely  about  his  work,  knowing 
that  the  love  of  friends  and  the  love  of  the 


Money  187 

work,  that  beauty  and  wisdom  and  freedom, 
more  precious  all  than  rubies,  are  bought, 
not  with  what  a  man  has,  but  with  what  he 
is — are  the  true  measure  and  value  of  man 
himself. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

VOCATION 

"\  A/HILE  the  labourer  is  worthy  of  his 
'  *  hire,  in  that  which  is  done  for  love 
and  not  for  money  must  always  lie  the 
deepest  satisfaction.  The  association  of 
money  with  creative  work  may  easily  be  a 
strained  one  in  finer  and  over-sensitive  minds. 
Genius  and  work  are  twin  brothers.  But 
genius  and  commerce,  though  they  may 
assume  an  intimacy,  can  never  be  friends, 
and  commercialism  has  blighted  one  by  one 
the  arts  and  crafts  of  the  past:  from  its 
Pandora-box  have  come  the  enemies  of 
beauty.  Machines  which  take  the  place  of 
hands  but  never  of  the  heart  in  work,  turning 
out  rubbish  in  the  name  of  art,  have  despoiled 
metal  working,  wood  carving,  furniture  mak- 
ing and  ceramics. 

It  is  the  base  doctrine  of  this  commercial- 
ism that  we  shall  produce  what  will  sell  in  art 
as   in  trade — a  doctrine  that  strikes  at  the 

188 


Vocation  189 

root  of  all  good  work.  If  the  people  want 
cheap  calico,  supply  them;  and  for  a  like 
reason,  if  they  demand  cheap  and  sensational 
books,  write  them.  It  is  only  because  in 
every  age  some  brave  and  inspired  men  have 
refused  to  abide  by  this  tenet  of  mediocrity, 
that  any  good  books  and  operas  have  been 
written,  or  any  good  pictures  painted.  Men 
are  poets  and  painters  in  spite  of  the  times; 
as  there  have  been  saints  in  spite  of  the  devil. 
The  world  is  as  loath  to  encourage  the  living 
as  it  is  eager  to  eulogise  the  dead. 

Now,  love  of  the  work  is  one  of  the  most 
practical  and  intimate  of  our  resources — 
not  love  of  the  result,  not  love  of  fame, 
but  of  the  work  itself  and  for  itself.  Happy 
is  he  and  favoured  of  the  gods  whose  vocation 
is  worthy  the  consecration  of  his  life  and 
effort;  miserable  indeed  that  man  who  has 
no  heart  in  his  work.  Work  is  purpose,  and 
without  purpose  we  cannot  truly  be  said  to 
live.  A  man's  work  should  be  commensurate 
with  his  ability  and  congenial  to  his  taste, 
yet  everywhere  we  find  men  doing  badly  that 
for  which  they  are  not  fitted.  The  truth  is 
they  are  not  working  but  merely  getting  a 
living.  Men  who  should  be  farming  are 
trying  to  preach,  and  men  are  trying  to  farm 


190  Resources 

who  preach  by  their  failure.  None  have  con- 
fidence in  themselves  and  all  blame  society. 

The  fault  lies  in  this:  that  the  love  of  good 
work  is  not  the  mainspring  of  the  world's 
activities,  but  rather  the  love  of  money. 
Mark  that  man  whose  concern  is  that  his 
work  should  be  well  done.  He  is  one  among 
thousands  whose  fear  is  lest  they  do  more 
than  they  are  paid  for.  As  for  the  rest,  they 
merely  serve  as  sleepers  upon  which  to  lay 
the  rails  of  progress. 

Creative  work  is  one  with  the  life  of  the 
artist — the  child  of  his  brain  and  heart. 
More  than  with  any  other  calling  is  his 
vocation  the  result  of  choice,  and  in  so  far, 
it  is  superior.  If  a  man  is  by  inclination  and 
fitness  a  merchant,  it  makes  not  so  much 
difference  what  he  sells,  provided  he  be  a 
good  merchant.  For  he  has  the  same  reason 
to  stand  for  sound  business  principles  as  the 
painter  for  true  principles  of  art;  he  shall 
love  equity  as  the  artist  loves  beauty,  and 
both  shall  hate  quackery  and  pretence.  He 
may  put  himself  into  his  work  to  the  extent 
that  he  builds  on  solid  foundation  and  con- 
ducts his  affairs  with  judgment.  But  how 
do  they  justify  themselves  who  thrive  on 
sham?      Wooden-nutmeg  men  whose  every 


Vocation  191 

label  and  every  advertisement  is  calculated 
to  deceive.  It  is  doubtless  prosaic  enough 
to  manufacture  soap  or  glue,  but  there  is  at 
least  the  satisfaction  of  producing  good  soap 
and  honest  glue,  of  building  up  a  sound  insti- 
tution which  shall  be  known  for  its  worth 
and  dignity;  and  in  these  days  this  is  no 
small  matter. 

There  are  so  many  ways  of  doing  a  thing, 
so  much  room  for  ingenuity  and  ability,  such 
opportunity  for  tact  in  handling  men,  for 
judgment  and  humanity  in  dealing  with 
employees,  so  much  that  is  over  and  above 
the  consideration  of  profits,  that  the  intelli- 
gent manufacturer,  if  only  he  has  a  heart  in 
his  work,  can  find  abundant  exercise  for  his 
faculties,  can  make  a  vocation,  prosaic 
enough  in  itself,  interesting  by  reason  of  its 
demands  on  his  skill,  his  taste,  and  his  charac- 
ter. We  are  as  a  people  mechanics  rather 
than  artists;  we  can  devise  a  pulley  more 
readily  than  we  can  harmonise  colours. 
Consider  the  vast  amount  of  material  manu- 
factured for  our  use  and  how  much  of  it  is 
an  offence  to  the  eye,  all  because  the  manu- 
facturer had  not  taste,  nor  sense  of  the  fitness 
of  things.  He  made  so  little  of  his  work, 
who  might  have  made  so  much;  he  put  so 


i92  Resources 

little  into  it  of  a  man,  and  hence  derived  from 
it  only  dollars,  only  material  profit,  and  no 
spiritual  or  intellectual  profit. 

It  is  plain  that  a  man's  vocation  is  a  re- 
source in  the  ratio  that  it  is  an  expression 
of  himself.  He  will  derive  from  it  with  in- 
terest as  much  as  he  has  put  into  it  in  moral 
and  intellectual  quality.  He  must  invest 
himself  as  well  as  his  money.  If  the  nature 
of  his  vocation  is  such  that  he  cannot  do  this, 
it  is  surely  a  poor  investment  and  will  prove 
a  treadmill  or  a  prison.  We  grow  through 
expression,  and  it  follows  that  a  vocation 
which  absorbs  the  greater  part  of  a  life 
should  offer  opportunity  for  self-unfoldment 
instead  of  being  a  continual  suppression  and 
inhibition  of  all  that  is  best  in  the  man.  He 
finds  himself,  let  us  say,  through  necessity 
or  inheritance,  manufacturing  nails,  who  is 
by  taste  a  bibliophile.  To  him  nails  are  ab- 
horrent. But  he  may  none  the  less  reveal 
himself  in  the  character  of  his  concern,  and 
in  the  equity  of  his  financial  dealing,  while 
he  may  always  take  satisfaction  in  overcom- 
ing obstacles,  and  in  the  sense  of  doing  some- 
thing well.  If  he  be  of  an  ethical  turn,  there 
is  always  room  for  the  elevation  of  business 
standards    and    methods,  and    improvement 


Vocation  193 

in  the  relations  of  employer  and  employee. 
Thus  may  he  find  a  solace  in  his  occupation, 
though  nails  remain  forever  unbeautiful  to 
him. 

You  will  see  many  men  who  have  well 
invested  their  money;  few  who  have  made 
a  good  investment  of  themselves.  Surely  it 
were  wiser  to  be  content  with  less  money, 
if  need  be,  in  order  to  follow  a  calling  agree- 
able to  one's  taste  and  temperament;  to  be 
willing  to  pay  something  for  the  privilege 
of  congenial  work.  The  poor  artist  or  scholar 
who  loves  his  easel  and  his  books  is  well  paid 
in  spite  of  his  poverty.  Nothing  stands  still 
— least  of  all  man.  Subject  to  the  law  of 
growth,  he  must  forge  ahead;  he  must  ex- 
pand, develop,  grow,  or  wither  and  shrivel. 
Since  his  vocation  is  in  such  large  measure 
his  life,  let  him  take  care  that  it  admits  of 
his  growth  and  fosters  his  development  as  a 
man.  Let  him  not  live  in  his  calling  like  a 
forest  tree  doomed  to  dwindle  in  a  flower  pot. 
Some  men  are  made  by  their  occupation, 
being  true  to  themselves;  others  are  unmade, 
being  true  to  what  they  falsely  consider  the 
demands  of  their  vocation.  These  do  not 
see  that  success  or  failure,  one  as  much  as  the 
other,  are  the  tests  which  the  laws,  not  of 


*3 


194  Resources 

trade,  but  of  God,  apply  to  us.  Some  great 
men  have  succeeded  in  failure,  and  a  host 
of  little  men  are  failing  in  success.  Men  who 
aver  that  their  moral  obliquity  was  essential 
to  the  financial  development  of  the  institu- 
tion they  represent,  illustrate  the  unmaking 
of  a  man  through  his  vocation.  Such  poor 
dupes  teach  by  their  mistake  the  necessity 
of  a  revision  of  popular  ideals  of  success. 
More  and  more  we  have  heard  that  it  lies 
in  financial  prosperity;  more  and  more  we 
have  come  to  believe  that  the  end  justifies 
the  means.  The  doctrine  is  pernicious.  The 
real  end,  it  now  appears,  is  often  enough 
suicide  or  the  penitentiary.  Never  has  the 
lesson  been  more  clearly  expounded  than  in 
this  last  decade.  An  inglorious  chapter  in 
American  history,  it  is  not  altogether  de- 
plorable if  it  deals  a  blow  to  false  doctrines  in 
thus  brutally  revealing  their  logical  outcome. 
What  then  is  success  ?  As  to  wealth  a  man 
is  no  richer  than  his  moral  and  intellectual 
capacity.  Wealth  does  not  exist  for  man 
apart  from  character  and  resources.  If  he 
has  not  these  he  is  poor  in  spite  of  every- 
thing. He  cannot  be  said  to  possess  any- 
thing who  does  not  first  possess  himself. 
The    idea    of    merely    accumulating    money 


Vocation  195 

satisfies  no  true  concept  of  life.  It  is  a 
disease  germ  in  the  world-thought  which  has 
infected  the  minds  of  an  unthinking  and  un- 
cultivated public.  A  true  success  can  mean 
nothing  less  than  the  advancement  of  the 
whole  man;  not  of  a  part  of  the  man  at  the 
expense  of  the  remainder.  He  is  not  an 
efficient  athlete  who  develops  his  muscles  at 
the  cost  of  his  heart;  and  neither  is  he  truly 
a  prosperous  man  who  fosters  in  himself 
business  shrewdness  and  address  to  the  detri- 
ment of  the  qualities  of  the  heart,  the  moral 
fibre,  or  the  faculties  of  the  intellect.  While 
man  has  machine-like  qualities  and  animal 
propensities,  he  is  neither  merely  a  machine 
nor  an  animal,  and  his  well-being  lies  in  that 
which  is  essential  to  his  intellect  and  his 
divinity.  If  a  man  lacks  philosophy  or  in- 
sight, if  he  lacks  judgment  or  taste,  he  is 
in  that  degree  incomplete  and  not  well 
rounded.  The  stoics  could  cite  few  examples 
of  pure  stoicism;  just  so  in  an  age  whose 
watchword  is  success,  we  can  point  to  few 
really  successful  men.  As  for  heroic  quali- 
ties, you  have  but  to  read  the  doings  of  the 
Spanish  pioneers,  or  the  French  missionaries, 
or  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  to  conclude 
that  we  have  none — a  conclusion  warranted 


196  Resources 

by  appearances  but  not  by  faith.  The 
factory  whistle  drowns  the  Spartan  fife,  that 
is  all.  We  have  grown  deaf;  but  let  us  hear 
the  call  to  battle  and  we  shall  straighten  again 
to  the  stature  of  men. 

Success  is  merely  the  fruit,  not  the  tree, 
and  there  can  be  no  good  fruit  unless  there 
is  first  a  well-nourished  and  well-developed 
root,  stem,  and  branch.  Men  wish  to  gather 
without  planting  good  seed,  or  caring  for 
the  tree,  or  giving  it  time  to  mature.  None 
gather  other  than  they  have  sown.  As 
surely  as  the  tree  and  the  fruit  are  one,  so  are 
cause  and  effect  one  and  inseparable  in  us. 
Time  ripens  the  fruit — time  and  sun  and  rain ; 
the  waters  of  the  earth,  the  very  solar  system 
conspire  to  that  end.  And  in  our  work  we 
must  not  be  content  to  gather  green  apples 
and  windfalls,  but  we  must  patiently  wait  till 
the  fruit  is  ripe.  Let  us  not  stupidly  judge  all 
aims  by  one  standard.  The  only  universal 
test  is  that  there  shall  be  sincere  effort  and 
good  work.  You  can  build  a  cheap  house 
in  a  day,  but  the  great  cathedrals  of  Europe 
were  years  in  building.  It  takes  a  decade  to 
acquire  the  rudiments  of  a  profession;  a 
life-time  to  be  an  authority  in  any  science, 
several  life-times  to  be  a  philosopher.     Tenny- 


Vocation  197 

son  was  fifty  years  in  completing  the  Idylls 
of  the  King.  Consider  how  long  Ghiberti 
worked  at  his  bronze  doors;  how  many  years 
Rousseau  and  Millet  awaited  recognition  in 
their  art;  with  what  patience  were  advanced 
those  theories  upon  which  now  rest  the 
natural  sciences.  If  a  man  is  consecrated  to 
his  work,  the  day  is  too  short,  life  is  too  brief. 
Pictures  were  not  painted  nor  epics  written 
in  the  hasty  and  perfunctory  manner  in  which 
we  transact  affairs.  What  did  Shakespeare 
and  Dante  and  Homer  get  for  their  work? 
What  was  Plato's  salary,  and  how  did  he  live 
on  it?  We  have  not  yet  paid  these  men 
what  we  owe  them.  But  doubtless  their 
townsfolk  wondered  what  they  were  about, 
and  why  they  did  not  do  something  practical 
"to  get  a  living." 

The  day's  work  has  not  yielded  its  full 
result  unless  it  has  become  in  some  degree 
a  resource,  and  this  it  does  only  in  so  far  as 
you  have  put  yourself  into  it.  If  you  have 
not  already  found  your  calling,  do  not  for 
that  reason  slight  your  present  task,  but 
regard  it  as  in  a  sense  a  preparation.  So 
may  you  some  day  look  back  and  see  that  it 
was  a  substantial  stone  in  the  structure. 
In  everything  you  do,  believe  that  you  may 


i98  Resources 

derive  character  that  shall  fit  you  for  a  better 
task.  To  him  who  so  lives  and  labours  there 
can  be  no  such  thing  as  failure.  Make  the 
present  task  an  ally  and  not  a  foe  to  your  life 
work.  It  may  teach  perseverance  and  con- 
centration if  nothing  more;  it  may  give  you 
the  grammar  of  all  good  work.  A  man  may 
write  a  clever  book  if  he  has  talent ;  he  cannot 
write  a  really  good  book  unless  he  has  talent 
and  character.  Talent  is  native,  but  character 
is  developed.  Many  work  well  enough  be- 
cause they  have  to,  but  would  be  shiftless 
and  idle  if  the  pressure  were  removed.  Such 
men  are  no  more  than  machines  which  run 
because  necessity  winds  them.  Few  behold 
the  pattern  at  which  they  are  at  work;  they 
see  merely  the  thread  in  their  hands,  weaving 
it  from  day  to  day  without  reference  to  any 
complete  and  harmonious  design.  Nothing 
worth  while  was  ever  done  without  overcom- 
ing obstacles  and  contending  with  adverse 
conditions;  nothing  is  permanently  overcome 
unless  we  first  overcome  ourselves: 

Then  welcome  each  rebuff 

That  turns  earth's  smoothness  rough. 

Doors  open  to  the  strong  and  close  to  the 
weak.     There  are  higher  laws  than  the  doc- 


Vocation  199 

tors  preach.  Heredity  and  determinism  are 
the  scapegoats  of  incapacity  and  impotence; 
the  freedom  of  the  will  is  ever  the  gospel  of 
strength. 

If  indeed  you  have  found  your  work,  be 
faithful,  be  true.  Believe  in  yourself  though 
the  heavens  should  fall,  and  heed  what  your 
enemies  say  for  they  sometimes  tell  the  truth. 
Ask  and  ye  shall  receive.  Every  man  who 
persistently  tries  to  do  something  above  the 
level  of  the  stupid  and  commonplace,  who 
will  not  sell  himself  with  his  work,  has  in 
him  an  element  of  greatness.  Verily  he  has 
his  reward  though  it  be  his  portion  to  be  for- 
ever misunderstood.  Let  him  take  heart  and 
shape  his  destiny  for  that  sphere  where 

Only  the  Master  shall  praise  us  and  only  the  Master 

shall  blame; 
And  no  one  shall  work  for  money  and  no  one  shall 

work  for  fame. 
But  each  for  the  love  of  the  working,  and  each  in  his 

separate  star, 
Shall  draw  the  thing  as  he  sees  it,  for  the  God  of 

things  as  they  are. 

You  are  waiting  for  your  ship  to  come  in; 
meanwhile  upon  a  silent  shore  are  drifting 
caravels  from  some  undiscovered  East.  To- 
day is  a  new  day;  to-day  the  world  lies  before 


200  Resources 

you  plastic  to  your  will.  It  wears  any  face 
you  give  it. 

"I  need  not  good  fortune;  I  myself  am 
good  fortune,"  said  Whitman,  and  all  who 
live  from  above  and  not  meanly  from  below, 
understand  him.  Let  us  live  and  work  in 
the  expectation  that  we  shall  some  day  be 
surprised  out  of  our  little  prudence  into  doing 
something  good  at  last. 

Your  practical  man  will  say  with  some  jus- 
tice, that  scorn  of  the  commonplace  leads 
to  dreamers  and  dilettantes.  So  it  may; 
some  poets  have  taken  to  drink,  some  bankers 
to  the  penitentiary,  but  all  do  not  so.  Lest 
my  meaning  be  misunderstood,  let  us  inquire 
into  the  nature  of  the  commonplace.  It  is 
a  question  of  motive.  I  knew  a  poor  artist 
who  more  than  once  was  at  the  point  of  star- 
vation but  worked  on,  faithful  to  his  ideals. 
He  could  make  a  fair  living  by  designing 
theatre  posters  but  preferred  his  crust,  his 
attic,  and  his  shabby  clothes  to  the  cheapening 
of  his  art.  The  sad  part  was  that  his  work 
was  indifferent.  But  his  motive  was  the 
mainspring  of  all  good  work,  and  set  the 
man  apart.  There  are  others  who  all  their 
lives  have  been  content  to  paint  sketches 
that   will   sell,    and   only   such    as   will   sell. 


Vocation  201 

Their  work  is  clever  enough,  but  the  men 
themselves  are  mediocre  and  will  never  pro- 
gress in  their  art.  If  you  paint  pictures  or 
write  books,  merely  to  sell  them,  you  are 
commonplace  though  your  calling  is  not; 
and  if  you  manufacture  nails  with  the  idea, 
not  only  of  selling  them,  but  of  making  the 
most  excellent  nail  that  can  be  made,  you 
thereby  redeem  an  ordinary  vocation  by  the 
excellence  of  your  motive.  If  your  profits 
do  not  seem  to  justify  your  efforts,  none  the 
less  you  have  a  reward  without  price — that 
your  vocation  is  in  some  degree  a  resource 
to  you.  It  may  seem  commonplace  to  hoe 
beans,  but  one  who  wields  the  hoe  to  earn 
money  for  an  education  or  to  support  a 
mother  instructs  society  itself  in  nobler 
things.  Mediocrity  is  not  so  much  in  the 
calling  as  in  the  man.  Nothing  is  more 
commonplace  than  selfishness  and  insincerity, 
while  that  life  is  not  without  its  excellence, 
even  nobilitv,  which  is  consecrated  to  un- 
selfishness  of  aim  or  to  the  love  of  good  work. 


CHAPTER  XV 

PLAY 

IN  that  hard  and  narrow  concept  of  life 
which  admits  of  no  play,  we  see  the  world 
as  the  Puritan  saw  it,  as  wintry  within  as 
without.  His  Spartan  sense  of  duty  was 
bound  up  in  his  Puritan  unplay fulness.  He 
drank  rum  to  the  glory  of  God,  but  he  was 
not  merry.  That  grim  sense  of  duty,  that 
abnormal  capacity  for  taking  himself  seri- 
ously, he  bequeathed  to  his  descendants. 
The  children's  teeth  are  still  on  edge  for  the 
sour  grapes  he  ate.  But  the  rigour  with  which 
he  regarded  life  and  religion,  we  keep  for 
business,  branding  with  the  scarlet  letter  of 
contempt  the  man  who  has  not  made  money, 
that  his  shame  may  be  known  to  the  stern 
and  fanatical  worshippers  of  the  terrible  god, 
Trade. 

I    shall    be  accused  of  exaggeration,  but 
how  is  it  possible  to  exaggerate  the  pitiful 

absurdity    of    worshipping  so    unlovely   and 

202 


Play  203 

unloving  a  god?  And  why  should  not  one 
regard  him  with  the  same  curiosity  or  indiffer- 
ence that  he  might  Quetzalcoatl,  or  Jugger- 
naut, or  the  Japanese  Wind  Devil,  without 
every  one's  exclaiming,  ' '  blasphemy  1 "  ?  'T  is 
heresy  to  be  sure,  but  so  was  Chris- 
tianity; so  were  the  rotation  of  the  earth 
and  the  circumnavigation  of  the  globe.  What 
may  be  said  of  play  is  perhaps  equally  perti- 
nent to  the  subject  of  leisure  or  of  rest,  or 
better  still  of  recreation,  which  is  the  real 
significance  of  play,  a  significance  both  psy- 
chological and  physical.  If  we  do  not  play 
enough  it  is  not  because  we  are  averse  to  it, 
but  because  we  are  overfond  of  business  and 
because  the  modern  ideal  is,  not  a  well 
rounded  man  of  cultivated  mind,  healthy 
body,  and  divers  resources,  but  a  rich  man, 
a  man  of  property, — of  one  resource  only. 
Another  reason  is  that  play  implies  leisure 
and,  as  we  have  seen,  leisure  is  the  cardinal 
heresy  against  the  religion  of  trade,  the  dogma 
of  business.  The  orthodox  view  is  a  life  of 
constant  effort  followed  by  retirement  and 
rest.  The  fruit  of  that  doctrine  is  a  host 
of  prematurely  old  men,  cynical,  dyspeptic, 
nervously  depleted,  without  resources,  but 
with  money;  that  is  to  say,  dead  men.     Play 


204  Resources 

is  to  be  the  portion  of  senility  alone,  of  first 
childhood  and  second  childhood.  Man,  how- 
ever, is  not  a  machine  and  must  perforce 
relax  his  activity  occasionally;  but  for  lack 
of  time  and  of  resources  many  find  that  re- 
laxation in  dissipation  rather  than  in  recrea- 
tion, in  stimulation  rather  than  in  repose. 

The  heresy,  then,  of  the  unorthodox  resolves 
itself  into  this,  that  it  were  wiser  to  distribute 
that  leisure  through  life,  applying  it  to  avo- 
cation and  to  play,  that  is  to  recreation.  To 
offset  the  wear  and  tear  of  living  there  must 
be  a  building  up.  Apart  from  any  philosophy 
of  life,  there  are  sufficient  grounds  for  this 
view  in  expediency  and  common  sense.  If 
it  is  cruel  for  a  man  to  work  his  horse  to 
death,  it  is  no  less  stupid  and  cruel  that  he 
should  work  himself  to  death.  While  we  hear 
a  great  deal  of  dissipation  the  most  prevalent 
form  is  that  of  overwork.  Men  are  desperate 
and  intemperate  in  business  that  they  may 
die  rich;  as  if  it  were  commendable  to  arrive 
in  port  with  a  broken  shaft  as  long  as  we 
have  made  a  quick  run.  Why  be  in  such 
haste  to  arrive  at  so  uncertain  a  port  and 
not  take  at  least  some  comfort  on  the  journey? 
Nervous  wrecks  among  physicians  and  preach- 
ers, heart  disease  among  athletes,  neurasthenia 


Play  205 

everywhere,  indicate  that  all  are  going  under 
forced  draft.  We  stand  on  tiptoe,  we  overdo 
everything,  we  strain  every  nerve;  in  other 
words,  we  have  hysteria.  We  need  to  rest, 
to  relax,  to  play,  to  recreate  ourselves. 

Physical  exercise  serves  this  end  only  when 
it  is  judiciously  indulged  in  and  some  degree  of 
pleasure  and  satisfaction  derived.  A  mere 
moving  of  the  arms  and  legs  is  of  no  avail  if 
there  is  no  change  of  thought.  Perfunctory 
exercise  is  work,  and  what  we  need  is  not 
more  work  but  play.  Let  there  be  some 
exhilaration,  and  it  becomes  beneficial.  While 
mind  is  paramount  and  the  quality  of  thought 
the  essential  thing,  the  state  of  mind  is  in- 
fluenced in  turn  by  the  body;  that  is,  the 
mind  influences  itself  by  its  changing  con- 
sciousness of  the  body,  and  for  that  matter,  of 
clothes,  the  outermost  integument.  After  all, 
the  body  is  a  sort  of  garment;  our  philosophy 
in  part  a  philosophy  of  clothes.  But  the  liber , 
or  innermost  garment,  being  of  flesh,  is  built 
from  within.  Man  changes  his  mind  with 
his  clothes  and  renews  himself  with  his  daily 
tub.  He  must  be  deeply  intrenched  either 
in  philosophy  or  in  savagery  to  be  superior 
to  these  things.  The  consciousness  of  being 
well-dressed  like  the  consciousness  of  being 


206  Resources 

clean  is  to  be  counted  a  mental  stimulus,  as 
is  any  true  and  positive  thought.  While  the 
worldly  mind  engages  itself  solely  with  body 
and  clothes,  with  integuments  that  is,  it  does 
not  follow  that  the  ascetic  wholly  concerned 
with  interior  states  is  much  nearer  the  truth. 
A  husk  is  not  the  corn  but  it  is  essential  to 
the  perfect  ear.  In  every  walk  of  life  there 
is  a  middle  path,  and  this  surely  is  the  straight 
and  narrow  way  which  few  follow,  so  broad 
and  inviting  to  mankind  is  the  path  of  ex- 
tremes. While  Christian  Science  would  have 
us  take  no  thought  of  the  body  whatever, 
hygiene  concerns  itself  with  the  body  alone. 
One  sees  man  as  a  spirit  with  no  garment ;  the 
other  as  a  garment  with  practically  nothing 
inside.  We  may  safely  assume,  however,  that 
that  which  has  an  inside  must  have  an  out- 
side. But  in  the  name  of  common  sense  not 
less  than  of  philosophy,  the  mind  should  con- 
trol the  body  and  not  the  body  the  mind. 

Exercise  has  no  value  apart  from  the  mental 
states  it  indirectly  induces.  It  is  of  no  use 
for  the  tired  and  worried  man  to  run  if  he 
does  not  run  away  from  his  cares.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  the  ride  or  the  walk  may  do 
just  this  for  him,  calling  into  use  a  different 
set  of  faculties  arid  transferring  the  cerebral 


Play  207 

activity  from  one  area  to  another.  A  region 
of  his  mind  used  in  his  vocation  lies  fallow 
in  his  play  and  is  renewed.  That  which  he 
might  consciously  do  for  himself  through 
thought-control  has  been  accomplished  for 
him  by  his  horse  or  canoe.  The  means  are 
different;  the  end  is  the  same.  It  must  be 
confessed  that  the  state  of  mind  is  more 
readily  changed  as  the  result  of  a  brisk  walk 
than  by  any  mental  effort  to  that  end.  Next 
to  that  which  is  oblivious  of  the  body,  surely 
we  may  praise  the  consciousness  of  bodily 
poise  and  well-being  which  frequently  suc- 
ceeds some  vigorous  and  agreeable  exercise 
and  a  cold  bath.  Not  the  least  of  our  re- 
sources lies  in  a  moderate  and  wholesome 
athletic  life,  inducing  concepts  of  health  and 
vigour  and  a  pleasant  realisation  of  physical 
life  itself.  Animal  rather  than  intellectual, 
it  is  not  unspiritual  in  that  it  is  moral  and 
sane;  animal  but  not  sensual,  for  sensuality 
is  emotional  and  intellectual  rather  than 
physical. 

It  is  true,  with  some  qualifications,  that 
athletics  make  for  morals  as  well  as  for  health. 
More  efficient  are  the  regulations  of  the 
trainer  than  the  homilies  of  the  moralist. 
Aware  that  excesses  will  debar  him  from  the 


208  Resources 

college  team  or  crew,  the  ambitious  young 
athlete  is  content  to  live  with  a  Spartan 
rigour.  As  much  may  be  said  of  the  ethics 
of  sport,  which  teach  how  to  give  and  to 
take  in  good  part  and  inculcate  self-control. 
Boxing  was  well-named  the  manly  art.  Let 
us  never  withhold  praise  of  honest  sport. 
There  has  never  been  a  better  school  for  the 
training  of  manly  qualities  than  the  foot- 
ball field,  and  if,  as  its  critics  assert,  it  has 
so  fallen  from  its  high  estate  that  the  means 
are  subordinated  to  the  end,  and  fair  play  is 
lost  sight  of,  why  then  it  is  no  longer  a  gentle- 
man's game ;  nay  more,  it  is  rotten  timber  and 
will  fall  to  earth  and  lie  in  the  heap  with 
other  dead  wood  which  is  crashing  about  our 
ears.  No  game  can  stand  the  commercial 
rot,  more  insidious  than  the  dry  rot;  pro- 
fessionalism can  never  be  other  than  a  curse 
to  athletics.  If  it  creep  in,  the  gentleman 
must  walk  out. 

In  athletics,  as  in  everything  else,  we  over- 
do. We  strain  for  results  and  lose  the  satis- 
faction in  work  and  in  play  for  themselves. 
Statistics  in  life  insurance  companies  show 
that  athletes  are  short  lived.  Exercise  is  a 
resource  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  exhilarating 
and    agreeable.     This    is    its    mental    value. 


Play  209 

Physically,  it  is  not  the  muscular  so  much  as 
the  nervous  system  which  it  is  important  to 
strengthen.  Here  we  break  down,  and  it  is 
the  nervous  system  again  which  we  should  aim 
to  benefit  by  relaxation  and  play.  Wherever 
the  muscles  are  developed  at  the  expense  of 
the  heart,  which  is  very  likely  to  occur  in  the 
training  of  oarsmen  and  sprinters,  it  is  a  poor 
exchange.  A  sound  heart  is  far  more  to  be 
desired  than  great  physical  development,  and 
an  efficient  nervous  system  is  a  more  valuable 
asset  than  bulk  or  strength. 

While  the  rational  mind  must  take  cog- 
nisance of  the  body  and  its  well-being,  it  is 
obvious  above  all  things  that  the  body  shows 
forth  beliefs  true  or  false.  Eat  we  must, 
but  whether  the  diet  be  raw  meat  or  turnips 
is  not  of  such  great  consequence.  Rather  is 
it  the  frame  of  mind  in  which  we  eat  that 
should  concern  us.  Common  sense  and  mod- 
eration are  of  more  value  than  special  diets 
or  special  exercises,  and  first  and  foremost 
is  healthful  thinking.  Common  sense  would 
dictate  that  we  devote  more  time  to  sleep,  to 
relaxation,  to  outdoor  life;  dine  moderately, 
bathe  freely,  breathe  deeply,  for  air  is  food 
of  a  sort,  and  beyond  this  the  less  thought 
taken  of  the  body,  the  better. 
14 


210  Resources 

Come  let  us  play!  Let  us  forget  the  im- 
portunate world;  let  us  even  lay  aside  our 
self-improvement  and  relax  for  an  hour  in  the 
sunshine,  careless  of  what  we  have  or  have 
not.  One  is  too  pompous  to  play;  another 
too  tense.  Some  carry  the  round  world  on 
their  backs;  others  are  afflicted  with  self- 
righteousness.  Some  are  inordinately  drunk 
and  some  inordinately  sober.  Life  is  so 
different  from  what  it  seems  to  this  desperate 
crew  in  their  desperate  haste,  haunted  with 
fears  and  obsessed  with  beliefs.  Would  that 
some  merry  god  might  pipe  a  compelling  ditty 
that  would  cause  them  to  forget  their  vices 
and  their  virtues,  that  they  might  dance 
with  one  accord  in  place  of  such  fruitless  toil, 
such  sorry  dissipation,  and  perchance  the 
scales  would  fall  from  their  eyes  and  the 
child  sight  be  restored  to  them. 

God  ever  speaks  to  man  in  nature.  Woods 
and  fields  beckon  to  the  heavy  ladened;  the 
trout  stream  invites  us  to  get  down  the  rod 
and  cast  a  fly  upon  the  swirling  water.  In 
our  ears  the  sea  sounds  its  call  that  we  become 
lotus  eaters  upon  an  enchanted  beach.  To 
saunter  is  as  good  a  relaxation  as  any,  were 
it  not  that  we  incline  to  take  our  troubles 
with  us.     Before  we  can  relax  we  must  first 


Play 


211 


be  diverted  from  our  customary  train  of 
thoughts;  we  must  get  out  of  ourselves. 

Sweet  are  the  uses  of  companionship  in 
this  regard;  sweet  the  uses  of  society,  if  so- 
ciety it  be.  Conviviality  affords  a  means  of 
escape,  and  who  shall  say  us  nay,  so  long  as 
moderation  preside  at  the  feast,  so  long  as  we 
"look  not  down  but  up  to  uses  of  the  cup!" 
Some  aver  that  a  long  face  is  the  mark  of 
virtue  and  these  be  the  modern  Pharisees 
whose  dissipation  is  not  wine  but  often 
enough  a  gossiping  tongue,  and  whose  vice 
is  the  cold  heart.  Hypocrites,  wearing  the 
solemn  face  of  Sunday,  the  genial  publican 
shall  enter  the  kingdom  before  them.  Blessed 
are  the  cheerful!  blessed  the  merry  hearts! 
Be  assured  that  virtue  lies  in  joy,  in  cheerful- 
ness, in  sunshine — not  in  cold,  not  in  dark- 
ness, be  these  without  or  within.  No  time 
for  play,  no  time  for  courtesy,  no  time  to  be 
kind !  What  a  madness  it  is ;  what  a  foolish 
frenzy!  Rather  than  this  let  us  seclude  our- 
selves in  asylums;  let  us  make  room  for  men 
whom  the  gods  shall  send. 

If  you  have  no  time  to  play,  confess  that 
neither  have  you  time  to  live.  What  is  this 
occupation  that  so  absorbs  ?  Are  you  digging 
at  the  roots  of  things  that  you  may  build 


212  Resources 

somewhat  worthy  a  master  builder;  or  does 
your  little  hour  pass  in  scratching  the  surface 
like  a  barnyard  fowl  that  you  may  fill  your 
stomach,  jealous  meanwhile  lest  another  too 
should  get  a  worm  ?  Alas  the  dismal  counter- 
feit of  life,  that  scratching  for  worms  should 
be  the  end  of  man,  and  the  worms  should 
get  him  at  last ! 

Come,  brother,  recreate  your  life !  A  merry 
heart  is  good  medicine.  Consider  what  an 
infinitesimal  speck  upon  the  earth  is  man, 
what  a  mote  in  space  the  earth  itself !  Where 
are  the  men  of  yesterday,  and  who  can  recall 
the  name  of  his  great  grandfather!  How 
ridiculous  this  arrogance,  this  pride,  this 
solemnity!  We  toil  and  moil  upon  this  little 
floating  ball,  that  we  may  erect  one  grain 
of  sand  upon  another,  only  to  sink  into  the 
dust  ourselves  before  it  is  accomplished. 
So  insignificant  is  the  man  of  flesh  and  all 
his  works.  Yet  it  is  different  what  the  divine 
man,  who  like  a  ray  from  the  great  sun,  ema- 
nates from  and  has  his  life  in  God;  and  it  is 
in  his  passive  moments  of  receptivity,  in  his 
relaxation,  it  may  be  in  his  play  also,  when 
his  heart  is  mellow  and  kind,  that  his  divinity 
shows  forth,  as  the  sunbeam  gilds  the  floating 
speck  of  dust. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
HOBBIES 

IF  our  vocation  be  the  result  of  necessity 
wholly,  unrelieved  by  any  love  of  the 
work,  we  may  with  more  reason  take  refuge 
in  hobbies  which  are  the  result  of  inclination 
alone.  Our  hobbies  are  our  intellectual  play, 
that  is,  our  avocations.  They  offer  an  escape 
from  the  prison  of  suppression — if  such  it  be — 
into  the  sunlit  field  of  expression.  Every 
man  should  have  a  hobby,  or  better  several; 
for  if  he  has  but  one  he  will  very  likely  ride  it 
to  death.  I  shall  be  understood  to  speak  of 
hobbies  of  course,  not  as  caprices  and  whims, 
but  as  interests.  Yet  who  can  say  what  satis- 
faction some  poor  wight  may  take  in  his 
crochet — whether  it  is  eating  grass  or  going 
barefoot,  socialism  or  microbes — a  microbe 
in  his  brain  in  any  case. 

A  crochet  may  unbalance  the  mind,  but 
every  true  resource  lends  it  breadth  and 
stability.     To  get  out  of  oneself  is  the  main 

thing,  and  this  the  hobby  aids  in  doing  by 

213 


214  Resources 

transferring  the  consciousness  from  aches 
and  pains,  from  prejudices  and  opinions, 
from  that  which  is  personal  to  that  which 
is  universal  in  its  bearing — arts  and  crafts  and 
sciences.  A  whim  on  the  other  hand  pins 
the  consciousness  the  more  on  self.  One  is 
freedom,  the  other  imprisonment.  Common 
men,  aside  from  their  vocation,  think  only 
of  eating  and  drinking;  an  intellectually 
resourceful  man  has  various  little  worlds 
into  which  he  may  retire.  The  nature  of 
these  hobbies  will  depend  somewhat  upon 
his  income,  but  the  aptitude  and  capacity 
for  them  depend,  not  upon  income,  but 
upon  intellect  and  cultivation.  Houses, 
philanthropy,  and  collecting  are  the  natural 
hobbies  of  the  rich.  But  let  us  remember 
he  is  first  who  creates  a  picture,  he  next  who 
can  appreciate  it,  and  he  is  last  who  can 
merely  possess  it. 

What  money  satisfies  is  the  sense  of  owner- 
ship, very  dear  to  the  heart  of  man.  That 
he  has  paid  for  this  bit  of  pottery  so  many 
good  doubloons,  and  has  it  under  lock  and 
key,  is  somehow  peculiarly  appealing  to  him. 
But  his  it  is  not,  in  truth,  unless  he  has  also 
an  intimate  understanding  and  a  subtle 
feeling  for  it.     That  understanding  he  may 


Hobbies  215 

acquire  through  study,  but  that  feeling  is 
born  in  him.  Your  true  connoisseur  does 
not  see  his  jug  as  a  detached  object,  but  as  a 
link  in  a  chain,  a  species  in  that  great  family 
of  ceramics  as  old  almost  as  the  human 
family  itself,  whose  genus  is  Persian,  or 
Chinese,  or  another.  Its  association  is  not 
only  with  art  but  with  anthropology  as  well, 
with  religion  and  history  and  politics;  for  it 
was  evolved  not  alone  from  the  thought  of  an 
individual,  but  out  of  the  life  of  a  people. 
It  possesses  racial  characteristics,  and  by  the 
earmarks  you  shall  know  it  was  made  in  this 
period,  or  in  that;  again  it  reveals  the  impress 
of  an  alien  influence,  always  associated  with 
either  conquest  or  religious  propaganda.  Even 
more  than  religion  or  history  have  geography 
and  meteorology  an  influence  on  the  artistic 
life  of  a  people.  The  wonderful  desert  in 
moulding  its  children,  moulds  their  art-forms 
as  well  and  lends  them  its  colours.  The  palm 
suggested  the  dome,  as  the  pine  the  Gothic 
spire,  and  only  to  desert  nomads  would  the 
rug  and  the  water  jar  have  assumed  such 
importance.  As  their  religion  confined  them 
to  geometric  designs,  so  did  the  desert  itself 
both  inspire  and  limit  their  ideas  of  beauty. 
All  this  your  connoisseur  learns  from  his 


216  Resources 

"  Sufi  pipkin, "  or  querulous  pot,  in  addition 
to  the  secrets  of  the  craft  itself.  He  knows, 
for  instance,  that  the  artist  did  not,  as  is  now 
done,  let  the  glaze  run  off  the  bottom  and 
then  grind  it  even,  but  with  great  skill 
stopped  it  at  his  pleasure  as  it  slowly  en- 
veloped the  surface  with  its  iridescent 
mantle.  The  jar  has  secrets  of  firing  and 
colouring  not  easily  read,  not  always  di- 
vulged. What  it  does  reveal  is  the  super- 
excellence  of  the  work  of  those  ancient 
potters  compared  with  any  modern  work  of 
the  kind.  It  commends  itself  not  so  much 
by  its  age  as  by  its  worth.  How  rich  then  to 
the  wise  and  feeling  eye  is  this  marvellous 
bit  of  clay  which,  investing  a  spirit  of  the 
dim  and  mythical  past,  woos  the  fond  col- 
lector with  its  storied  charm — the  very  soul 
of  that  ancient  artist,  the  ghost  of  a  buried 
race.  No  wonder  he  seeks  the  society  of  his 
treasures,  for  they  are  to  him  the  mystic 
presence  of  ancient  Babylon,  of  Persia,  of 
old  Japan — mementos  of  a  Golden  Age  of 
good  work.  That  which  is  common  to  them 
all,  that  which  is  fundamental  because  uni- 
versal, is  beauty.  As  it  was  in  the  mind  of 
the  artist,  in  the  mind  of  his  race,  so  it  is  in 
the  mind  of  the  collector:  the  cosmic  neces- 


Hobbies  217 

sity  which,  as  it  bestows  upon  the  flower, 
colour  and  form,  inspires  the  artist  to  so 
endow  his  work.  These  jugs  and  pots  in  the 
treasury  of  the  collector  may  well  come  to 
have  a  personal  and  friendly  significance  to 
the  master  of  the  house,  familiar  with  the 
facts  of  their  life,  their  vicissitudes,  and  their 
triumphs,  and  drawn  by  a  bond  which  knows 
not  time  to  the  heart  of  the  master  workman 
who  fashioned  them. 

An  unlettered  man  can  have  slight  com- 
prehension of  the  joy  of  the  scholar  in  his 
books;  much  less  can  he  understand  the 
infatuation  of  the  bibliophile  in  his  first  edi- 
tions, his  rare  copies,  his  hand-tooled,  crushed 
levant,  and  morocco  bindings.  No  more  does 
the  objective  type  of  mind  comprehend  that 
mind  which  is  subjective;  nor  the  man  of 
action,  the  man  of  thought.  We  are  so 
exaggeratedly  one  thing  or  the  other,  so  intel- 
lectually narrow  in  our  sympathies,  that  the 
peculiar  force  of  one  type  appears  as  inertia 
to  an  opposite  type.  Resources  broaden  the 
intellect,  as  suffering  and  experience  widen 
the  sympathy.  The  narrowness  of  the  wholly 
commercial  mind  is  only  equalled  by  that  of 
the  mind  which  is  pedantically  intellectual  or 
fanatically  religious. 


218  Resources 

Behold  your  man  of  books,  fond,  foolish 
lover  that  he  is,  mooning  over  his  treasures! 
He  dotes  on  his  Elzevirs ;  he  fondles  his  musty 
tomes.  He  would  go  without  a  coat  to  buy 
an  old  book;  without  his  dinner  to  gloat 
over  its  worn  cover,  its  mottled  page.  It 
would  doubtless  surprise  his  associates  in 
office  or  factory  to  know  that  this  man  has 
another  life  from  that  which  he  leads  with 
them, — a  double  personality ;  that  apart  from 
the  humdrum  existence  of  price  lists  and 
letter  files,  he  has  hours  of  a  glorified  life. 
They  know  him  as  the  president  or  manager; 
as  the  book  lover  he  is  a  stranger  to  them, 
and  they  cannot  so  much  as  set  foot  in  that 
paradise  into  which  he  escapes  from  the  day's 
turmoil.  His  assets  are  thus  greatly  in 
excess  of  his  common  rating.  He  has  here 
a  property  paying  interest  independently  of 
market  conditions.  He  is  a  wiser  investor 
than  they,  and  holds  securities  not  commonly 
listed  but  of  exceeding  value;  wiser  because 
he  has  invested  in  more  than  one  world.  He 
has  some  stock  in  the  world  of  letters,  some 
in  the  sphere  of  art,  and  that  part  of  himself 
lives  well  on  the  income  which  in  other  and 
less  astute  investors  actually  starves  for  lack 
of  any  income  whatsoever. 


Hobbies  219 

What  we  see  in  a  thing  is  a  matter  of 
attention  and  preparedness.  We  do  not 
perceive  an  object  merely  because  it  is  con- 
tiguous ;  it  may  be  under  the  nose  but  not  in 
the  field  of  consciousness.  As  there  are  none 
so  deaf  as  those  who  do  not  wish  to  hear,  there 
are  none  more  blind  than  the  uninterested. 
Naturalists  see  birds  and  flowers  where  others 
see  none,  and  connoisseurs  detect  distinctions 
invisible  to  the  tyro.  Both  are  good  observers, 
both  apperceive  in  a  more  complex  way  than 
uninterested  and  uninformed  persons.  If  your 
hobby  is  bronze,  it  goes  without  saying  your 
cherished  vase  is  not  the  same  to  you  as  it  is 
to  another  who  has  no  such  passion.  It  is  thus 
interests  enrich  life,  and  naturalist  and  col- 
lector live  in  worlds  more  complex  and  more 
beautiful  than  the  world  of  other  men. 

The  nature  of  one's  hobbies  appears  to  be 
in  large  measure  a  matter  of  temperament, 
of  feeling  for  things.  One  man  feels  in- 
stinctively for  bronze,  another  for  clay,  an- 
other for  horse  flesh.  Something  in  us — 
mystic  and  unfathomable — establishes  a  sym- 
pathy with  etchings  or  engravings;  and  in 
another  with  painting  or  with  marble.  This 
same  thing  attracts  one  to  the  sea,  one 
to  the  mountains,   some  to  the  wilderness, 


220  Resources 

others  to  gardens  and  farms.  From  his 
tastes  you  may  draw  reasonable  inferences 
concerning  the  man.  We  show  ourselves  in 
our  likes  and  dislikes  and  particularly  in  our 
hobbies,  wherein  we  are  free  agents.  Observe 
that  the  fisherman  is  not  the  same  man  as 
the  hunter;  that  he  who  has  a  penchant  for 
the  saddle  horse  and  he  who  takes  to  racing 
a  motor  car  have  subtle  points  of  difference 
not  easily  detected  in  themselves  perhaps, 
but  here  plainly  revealed.  Again  that  one 
who  loves  a  book  for  its  binding  and  one  who 
loves  it  for  its  contents  are  seldom  brothers; 
or  that  he  whose  affinity  is  the  violin  could 
never  take  to  tooting  a  horn. 

Some  aboriginal  traits  flourish  in  the  hunter ; 
and  these  are  modified  in  the  fisherman  by 
poetic  or  philosophic  leanings.  He  who  in- 
clines to  stock  raising  as  a  hobby  has  seemingly 
a  more  direct  inheritance  from  pastoral  than 
from  savage  and  nomadic  stages  of  evolution. 
To  him  the  markings  of  fowl  and  the  points 
of  sheep,  of  cattle  and  dogs  and  horses,  appeal 
with  all  the  force  of  an  Elzevir  to  the  biblio- 
phile or  a  peachblow  vase  to  a  collector. 
His  heart  is  in  field  and  stable  and  kennel 
and  not  in  library  or  museum;  and  the  point 
is,    that   these  things  have  not  to  him  the 


Hobbies  221 

common  meaning  they  have  to  uninterested 
persons,  are  not  considerations  of  beef  and 
mutton,  eggs  and  milk,  but  matters  of 
form  and  breeding  which  evoke  from  him 
effort,  interest,  and  pride.  To  breed  good 
stock  is  to  him  quite  as  worthy  an  end  as  to 
encourage  good  art.  A  cow  is  a  cow  to  a 
bibliophile.  Not  so  to  your  gentleman 
farmer,  however,  to  whom  the  pedigree  of 
stock  has  all  the  dignity  of  canons  and  tra- 
ditions of  art  to  a  painter. 

While  collecting  is  the  hobby  of  a  rich 
man,  appreciation  may  be  equally  the 
hobby  of  a  poor  one.  Pictures  in  the  mu- 
seum serve  him  very  well,  and  a  library 
card  entitles  him  to  more  books  than  can  be 
read  in  ten  life-times.  He  lacks  only  the 
sense  of  ownership. 

But  the  great  resource,  that  which  is  ac- 
cessible to  all,  and  of  which  fewest  avail  them- 
selves, is  nature.  Without  deeds  or  titles, 
with  no  claim  but  that  of  ear  and  eye  and 
heart,  no  tax  but  such  as  his  intellect  and 
sympathy  pay,  one  may  own  the  woods 
and  fields,  the  everlasting  hills  and  the  opal 
sea.  Men  wondered  what  Thoreau  was  about ; 
seeing  him  so  poor  in  vocation,  they  failed  to 
perceive  how  rich  was  he  in  his  avocation. 


222  Resources 

Where  others  had  but  farms  and  woodlots 
and  mortgages,  he  had  a  vast  and  beautiful 
estate  in  nature,  unencumbered  and  yielding 
him  a  continual  revenue.  Such  is  ever  the 
lot  of  the  lover  of  the  wild.  From  the  tur- 
moil and  perplexities  of  the  world  his  soul 
shall  flee  as  a  bird  to  the  mountains.  He 
knows  the  companionship  of  forest  trees,  the 
solace  of  laughing  waters;  his  the  unfailing 
society  of  little  birds,  the  gentle  company 
of  woodland  flowers.  Where  others  see  but 
loneliness  and  desolation,  he  experiences  the 
joys  of  solitude,  of  shy  and  charming  friend- 
ships. 

Whatever  the  hobby,  its  influence  is  not 
alone  upon  character,  but  upon  age.  While 
sympathies  broaden  the  mind,  interests  keep 
it  young,  and  the  more  interests  we  have  the 
slower  we  are  in  growing  old.  Age  is  an 
atrophy  of  the  faculties  through  lack  of 
interest,  of  enthusiasm,  of  use.  We  are  as 
young  as  our  hearts  and  that  heart  is  still 
youthful,  though  the  years  be  many,  which 
has  treasures  in  books,  in  art,  in  nature. 
Equally  valuable  are  our  avocations  as  a 
means  of  expression.  It  matters  little  if  we 
have  not  genius;  if  with  violin  or  cello,  with 
pencil  or  brush,  we  can  do  reasonably  well 


Hobbies  223 

and  are  capable  of  doing  better,  we  have 
several  means  of  exercising  the  faculties  and 
of  keeping  alive  our  interests.  Parts  of  the 
self  are  brought  into  play  which  would  other- 
wise perish  for  lack  of  recognition.  We  must 
keep  alive  as  much  as  we  can,  not  alone  in 
root  and  stem  but  in  every  limb;  for  dead 
wood  encumbers  the  tree  and  mars  its  sym- 
metry. The  dilettante  with  no  life  work  is  a 
tree  dying  at  the  root ;  while  the  worker,  with 
no  interests  aside  from  his  treadmill,  is  a  tree 
sound  at  the  core  it  may  be,  but  blighted  in 
leaf  and  flower.  All  men  are  partly  dead 
from  lack  of  cultivation ;  in  each  some  faculties 
are  nourished  at  the  expense  of  others,  some 
are  starved.  None  are  completely  nourished; 
none  are  wholly  alive.  Hearn  somewhere 
comments  on  the  first  cry  of  the  Japanese 
babe  which,  being  translated  into  speech, 
means  good-bye.  To  what  is  the  little  soul 
saying  good-bye?  he  asks.  It  is  perhaps  to 
some  world  of  beauty  to  which  it  has  just 
died,  which  seers  and  poets  dimly  recall  in 
their  moments  of  ecstasy.  Do  we  not  die 
to  that  world  as  one  by  one  fade  the  early 
perceptions  of  beauty,  as  one  by  one  are  closed 
the  channels  of  expression?  Such  indeed  is 
the  sad  truth.     Yet  there  have  been  miracles ; 


224  Resources 

for  such  is  the  vitalising  power  of  immortal 
words  and  works,  that  the  dead  have  been 
known  to  hear  their  message  and  to  come 
forth  from  the  grave. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
HOME 

T_JOME,  like  heaven,  is  not  a  place  but  a 
*  *  condition,  for  which  we  are  fitted  by 
love  and  trust  and  for  which  every  insincerity 
disqualifies  us.  Like  the  body  itself,  it  is 
the  expression  of  the  inner  life.  As  a  house 
is  but  an  outer  integument  of  the  physical 
man,  the  home  is  an  expansion  of  his  mental 
and  moral  self,  or  more  properly  the  com- 
posite family-mind  or  self,  a  mental  atmo- 
sphere whose  condition  is  dependent  both 
upon  the  individual  members  and  their  ad- 
justment one  to  the  other.  The  basis  of 
this  delicate  adjustment  is  necessarily  love 
and  wisdom;  love,  showing  itself  in  affection, 
in  sincerity,  in  kindness,  considerateness,  and 
forbearance;  wisdom,  in  tact,  in  judgment, 
in  understanding  of  character  and  tempera- 
ment,  in  understanding  of  life  itself. 

When   thought    is    tinged   with   feeling    it 
reacts  most  readily,  and  it  is  for  this  reason 

IS  225 


226  Resources 

we  are  so  susceptible  to  the  mental  atmo- 
sphere of  the  home:  it  is  personal  to  us  and 
involves  the  emotions.  Psychic  relations  of 
family  life  are  peculiarly  intricate,  and  the 
suggestions  to  which  the  several  members  are 
more  or  less  subject  are  very  complex  and 
very  potent.  That  "every  man's  house  is 
his  castle"  has  a  peculiar  significance  when 
applied  to  the  home  in  this  subjective  sense. 
If  the  psychic  relations  are  harmonious,  if 
home  is  indeed  home,  then  is  it  a  fortress  of 
moral  and  spiritual  strength  wherein  the 
fortunate  inmates  are  spiritually  nourished 
and  morally  invigorated.  In  the  ideal  home 
then,  in  this  spiritual  fortress  where  love 
and  harmony  prevail,  man  has  a  resource 
which,  like  religion,  like  philosophy,  endows 
him  with  strength  and  fortitude  to  meet 
life — a  resource  which  above  all  others  shall 
solace  and  comfort  him.  But  if  a  house  be 
divided  against  itself,  then  is  it  never  home; 
and  far  from  a  fortress  of  strength  to  its  in- 
mates, it  is  a  psychic  atmosphere  in  which 
they  are  severally  depleted  and  debilitated. 
Such  a  castle  of  despair  is  easily  taken  by 
every  assault  of  despondency  and  unrest,  of 
vanity  and  folly,  from  without. 

Fundamental  among  institutions,  the  fam- 


Home  227 

ily  is  the  bulwark  of  national  life  and  of 
society.  Whatever  strengthens  it,  strength- 
ens the  individual  and  invigorates  the  nation ; 
and  the  decay  of  family  life  marks  the  begin- 
ning of  the  end.  While  the  sacredness  of  the 
home  is  as  obvious  to  our  moral  sense  as  the 
necessity  of  credit  to  our  commercial  instinct, 
we  are  slow  to  realise  that  the  foes  of  the 
home  are  too  often  they  of  the  household. 
The  house  falls  because  it  is  built  on  sand  and 
not  on  the  rock  foundation  of  love,  harmony, 
and  peace.  If  the  inmates  fall  ill  it  is  be- 
cause of  the  sickly  psychic  atmosphere,  or 
the  spiritual  cold  in  which  they  live.  With 
all  our  efforts  regarding  pure  air  and  proper 
sanitation,  we  are  stupidly  indifferent  to  the 
even  more  practical  necessity  of  a  pure 
mental  atmosphere,  free  from  disease  germs 
of  fear  and  malice. 

Observe  your  neighbour,  what  are  his 
household  gods?  and  you  shall  know  in  what 
state  he  lives.  Wherever  the  medicine  chest 
has  dominion,  in  that  house  darkness  prevails 
and  fear  lurks  privily.  Again  if  Disapproval 
sit  at  the  head  of  the  table,  there  shall  be 
no  peace  in  that  abode;  and  if  Criticism  come 
in  at  the  door  then  shall  Love  fly  out  of 
the  window.     But  count  that  house,  wherein 


228  Resources 

tact  is  supreme,  among  the  wonders  of  the 
world. 

Everything  that  can  be  said  in  this  wise 
will  prove  an  oft-repeated  homily,  a  platitude 
which  must  crave  pardon  for  its  appearance. 
Yet  the  fact  remains  that  there  be  many 
houses  and  but  few  homes;  that  the  world  is 
full  of  homeless  men  and  women,  and  what 
is  worse,  homeless  children  who,  while  they 
are  sheltered  and  clothed  and  fed,  have  never 
dwelt  in  that  state  of  harmony  which  nour- 
ishes the  better  part  of  us  and  shelters  us 
from  the  rigours  and  discords  of  life.  In 
venturing  upon  this  topic  then,  it  is  with  the 
hope  that,  in  place  of  a  homily  on  the  virtues, 
which  answers  no  purpose,  there  may  come  to 
light  some  less  obvious  truth,  which  shall 
serve  to  emphasise  the  peculiarly  subtle 
nature  of  the  psychic  conditions  essential  to 
a  home,  as  distinguished  from  a  house;  and 
furthermore,  in  the  belief  that  any  considera- 
tion of  resources  would  be  far  from  complete 
were  no  account  taken  of  the  possibilities  of 
home  which,  while  it  fosters  the  cultivation  of 
resources,  is  in  turn  the  beneficiary. 

Good  intentions  count  for  so  little;  wisdom 
for  so  much.  Well-meaning  people  make 
such  trouble  in  the  world.     Is  there  a  bigot 


Home  229 

in  the  family?  Heaven  help  that  house!  Is 
one  member  bent  on  directing  the  affairs  of 
the  rest?  Surely  the  Lord  chasteneth.  Is 
there  a  self-appointed  critic  among  them? 
Inexorable  is  karma.  But  if  love  prevail, 
then  shall  it  be  the  aim  of  each  to  remove 
the  beam  from  his  own  eye;  and  if  all  be 
faithful  in  this,  perchance  none  shall  see  the 
mote  in  his  brother's  eye.  Fatal  to  love, 
fatal  to  happiness  is  the  critical  habit.  Shall 
the  hand  criticise  the  foot  because  it  walks 
merely  and  cannot  write;  or  the  eye,  the  ear, 
because  it  hears  only  and  cannot  see?  As 
if  one  were  not  as  essential  as  the  other. 
Let  the  members  make  themselves  useful 
each  in  their  several  capacities,  and  for  this 
profoundly  significant  reason,  that  if  any 
member  shall  fall  sick,  the  health  of  the 
whole  body  must  suffer.  Let  the  eye  encour- 
age the  ear  to  hear,  and  the  ear  the  eye  to 
see,  and  let  each  member  acknowledge  its 
indebtedness  to  the  rest  and  conserve  the 
well  being  of  the  whole.  We  know  our  whims 
and  foibles,  and  if  we  have  any  duty,  it  is 
that  we  should  aim  to  remove  them  wher- 
ever they  conflict  with  the  general  welfare.  If 
we  do  not  this  much,  let  us  never  again  prate 
of  charity,  for  charity  beginneth  at  home. 


230  Resources 

If  there  is  one  thing  more  than  another 
which  disturbs  the  harmony  of  family  life,  it 
is  this  critical  habit,  this  inclination  to  restrict 
the  liberty  of  the  individual.  It  needs  not 
that  one  should  express  his  disapproval;  it 
is  enough  to  look  it.  A  thorn  in  the  flesh, 
a  cinder  in  the  eye,  it  is  his  function  to  irri- 
tate that  others  may  acquire  merit  through 
forbearance. 

Expression,  not  suppression,  is  the  law  of 
growth.  The  individual  must  have  liberty, 
as  the  plant  must  have  room.  Give  a  healthy 
tree  soil  and  sunshine  and  it  tends  to  develop 
symmetrically.  But  the  symmetry  of  a  fir 
is  one  thing,  the  symmetry  of  an  oak  another. 
Now  the  atmosphere  in  which  the  individual 
best  develops  is  one  of  freedom,  with  en- 
couragement and  example  to  be  considerate 
and  thoughtful  of  others.  This  is  the  norm; 
selfishness  is  a  distortion.  He  may  count 
himself  fortunate  who  learned  the  lesson  in 
youth,  for  it  is  with  difficulty  acquired  in 
later  years.  It  is  spiritual  health  and  counts 
for  more  than  a  good  constitution.  Home 
is  the  one  school  for  this  superior  education, 
which  both  the  world  and  the  college  supply 
indifferently  if  at  all.  True  it  is,  that  nothing 
wholly   compensates    for   the   lack   of   early 


Home  231 

training.  Breeding  is  not  alone  in  conduct; 
it  is  in  ideals  as  well — right  thinking  in  place 
of  wrong,  true  ideals  in  lieu  of  false,  con- 
siderateness  instead  of  selfishness.  It  is  what 
we  are  that  counts.  No  man  has  a  better 
friend  than  himself,  or  a  more  subtle  foe. 
A  pampered  child  becomes  a  selfish  man, 
that  is  to  say,  his  own  worst  enemy.  The 
youth  who  at  home  hears  but  criticism  of 
his  neighbours,  who  is  told  that  money  is  the 
chief  end  of  man,  who  is  encouraged  to  get 
on  in  the  world  at  the  expense  of  others, 
is  handicapped  for  life,  for  any  true  living, 
and  only  his  good  angel  can  ever  free  him. 
One  of  the  curious  facts  of  psychology  is 
our  awareness  to  the  peculiarities  of  others, 
our  blindness  to  our  own.  You  will  see 
grandames  persisting  in  the  prejudices  of 
their  youth,  though  it  is  a  patent  to  all  that 
that  particular  whim  has  been  a  thorn  in 
the  flesh  of  yonder  quiet  old  man  these  fifty 
years.  We  will  not  believe  that  it  is  the 
little  things  that  count,  that  the  straw  breaks 
the  camel's  back,  that  the  dropping  of  water 
wears  away  the  ledge.  Put  on  your  prejudices 
when  you  go  abroad  if  you  must,  like  chain 
armour,  but  take  them  off  at  home.  If  you 
have  imitated  the  chestnut  burr,   only  the 


232  Resources 

frost — only  the  frost  of  life — shall  open  you 
and  reveal  the  kernel.  Alas,  when  the  burr 
opens,  they  may  be  dead  who  cared.  We  do 
not  inquire,  it  seems,  as  to  the  cost  of  our 
whims;  but  they  are  paid  for,  it  may  be,  in 
peace  of  mind,  in  the  peace  of  the  home — 
and  the  price  is  ruinous.  Be  it  written  upon 
the  walls,  that  egotism  is  not  individuality. 
Home  is  the  only  form  of  socialism  that  will 
ever  succeed ;  but  you  can  have  no  community 
of  egotists.  Let  the  socialist,  then,  answer 
whether  he  has  been  able  to  establish  a  com- 
munity of  two,  before  he  prates  of  the 
communal  idea. 

Home  is  a  condition  depending  upon  the 
recognition  of  higher  laws,  upon  uncommon 
as  well  as  upon  common  sense.  Domestic 
economy  is  not  alone  a  matter  of  household 
expense  but  far  more  of  spiritual  economy, 
will  economy,  nerve  economy.  It  is  not 
necessary  the  house  should  be  swept  and 
garnished  at  the  expense  of  our  peace  of 
mind.  By  all  means  let  us  be  clean,  but  let 
us  have  peace  as  well.  We  desire  only  that 
we  shall  be  unobtrusively  dusted,  not  as- 
saulted with  dust-pans,  with  din  and  clatter 
and  ostentation  of  domestic  virtue.  If  the 
grocer's  bill  is  excessive,  give  us,  0  ye  gods, 


Home  233 

wisdom,  to  inflict  our  displeasure  on  the 
grocer  and  not  on  the  family,  for  that  is  more 
expensive  still.  If  we  have  not  slept,  or  the 
breakfast  is  cold,  or  the  furnace  out,  we  may 
still  pursue  wisdom  and  virtue,  and  the  less 
said  the  better. 

Let  us  never  forget,  with  our  groaning  self- 
sacrifice,  our  morbid  sense  of  "duty,"  that 
our  first  concern  is  to  be  cheerful  and  serene. 
If  duty  is  the  only  mainspring  of  our  life, 
it  is  but  cold  comfort  to  the  household. 
That  is  home  in  which  love  rather  than  duty 
reigns.  By  what  rhyme  or  reason  should  one 
daily  present  himself  a  nervous  invalid  and 
snivel  of  virtue?  We  should  rather  dine 
upon  porridge  and  have  some  semblance  of 
life  in  us.  It  is  not  worth  while  to  live  with 
the  furies  with  no  end  in  view  but  over-eating 
and  over-dressing.  Much  of  our  economy  is 
a  robbing  of  Peter  to  pay  Paul.  We  save  a 
few  cents  but  waste  our  nervous  energy. 
The  house  is  swept  but  our  minds  are  dis- 
ordered. We  manage  to  pay  our  bills  but 
fail  to  discharge  our  debt  to  the  home;  and 
not  while  the  world  stands  is  this  debt  paid 
in  money  alone. 

The  belief  held  in  Japan,  not  only  in  ghosts 
of  the  dead  but  in  ghosts  of  the  living,  finds 


234  Resources 

some  sanction  in  recent  disclosures  concerning 
telepathy  and  the  subliminal  self.  It  is  per- 
haps more  than  a  fiction  that  there  escapes 
from  us  in  the  varying  emotions  which  clothe 
the  personal  self,  certain  astral  and  vaporous 
selves  or  emanations  having  a  tentative  life, 
which  haunt  the  psychic  atmosphere,  falling 
upon  its  sunshine  like  shadows,  felt  but  not 
seen.  True  it  is,  that  depression  steals  over 
us,  we  know  not  why,  that  vague  unbidden 
fears  come,  we  know  not  whence,  to  fasten 
upon  our  very  vitals.  If  there  be  not  unity 
in  love,  then  more  readily  in  that  atmosphere 
of  unrest  these  shadowy  ghosts  of  false  emo- 
tions, these  ignoble  selves  of  us,  creep  from 
their  dark  corners  to  mingle  with  ghosts  of 
the  past. 

In  unity  is  strength  and  there  is  no  unity 
without  loyalty,  none  without  love.  Home 
building  is  an  art  and  a  science.  The  past 
masters  of  this  spiritual  architecture  are 
few,  for  its  qualifications  are  wisdom  and 
love — great  love.  In  a  sense,  the  spirit  of 
this  age  is  not  conducive  to  the  cultivation 
of  the  home,  for  the  same  reason  that  it  fails 
to  foster  our  resources  in  general.  Ever  and 
forever  it  is  what  we  are  that  counts;  if 
we  are  money-making  machines,  if  we  live  a 


Home  235 

harassed  and  desperate  life,  if  the  world  has 
made  us  cynics,  we  cannot  possibly  do  jus- 
tice to  the  home.  Only  the  best  in  us  will 
serve  there,  only  sincerity  will  avail,  only 
goodness  will  answer.  It  searcheth  the  heart, 
even  as  solitude,  aye,  even  as  God.  As  we 
are  too  busy,  too  engrossed  in  affairs  to  cul- 
tivate our  resources,  so  often  enough  we  are 
too  hurried  to  construct  a  home.  There  is 
only  time  to  build  a  house.  No  time  for 
friendship,  no  time  for  courtesy,  no  time  for 
living!  Finer  relations  are  sacrificed  for  the 
coarser  ones  of  life.  Men  live  in  museums, 
in  prisons,  in  sepulchres.  Not  in  these  need 
we  expect  the  delicate  blossoms  of  trust,  of 
affection,  of  companionship  to  mature  and 
perfect  themselves. 

Home  requires  of  us  something  finer  than 
goes  into  the  world's  affairs;  something  su- 
perior to  business  tact  and  ability — a  more 
delicate  diplomacy,  a  more  spiritual  culture. 
It  is  not  to  be  had  as  a  matter  of  course,  like 
a  house  or  a  stable.  It  demands  the  most 
exquisite  adjustment  of  one  to  another;  it 
demands  purification  and  renunciation.  It 
is  impossible  without  love,  without  loyalty. 
Such  is  the  foundation;  the  temple  reared 
thereon  is  superior  to  any  temple  made  with 


236  Resources 


hands.  Worship  at  that  altar,  that  sacred 
altar  of  the  hearth,  is  not  of  the  lips  but 
of  the  heart,  is  perhaps  the  purest  religion 
we  know. 


The  End. 


Mexican  Trails 

A  Record  of  Travel  in  Mexico,  1904- 
1907,  and  a  Glimpse  at  the  Life  of 
The  Mexican  Indian 

The  author  spent  three  years  in  the  country  and  is  more 
competent  than  others  to  write  about  it.  He  has  sympathy 
for  the  people  and  understanding  of  them. — New  York  Sun. 

Beyond  its  excellence  as  the  characterization  of  a  traveller 
of  picturesque  spots,  is  the  insight  of  the  book  into  social, 
political,  religious,  and  human  problems. — Boston  Transcript. 

Mr.  Kirkham  is  gifted  with  descriptive  powers  of  a  high 
order,  and  it  is  not  bestowing  too  high  praise  when  we  say 
that  at  times  he  reminds  us  of  Theophile  Gautier.  Here  are 
some  vivid  bits  of  word-painting  not  unworthy  of  the  great 
French  master  of  prismatic  prose.  .  .  .  The  author  of 
Mexican  Trails  travelled  far  and  wide,  away  from  main 
travelled  roads,  and  saw  much  that  is  hidden  from  the 
ordinary  traveller.  A  keen  observer  with  an  eye  for  the 
picturesque,  the  skill  to  record  his  impressions  in  a  striking 
and  realistic  way,  his  book  is  a  welcome  addition  to  the 
literature  dealing  with  a  fascinating  land. — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

He  did  not  view  the  country  from  the  car  window,  but  as 
a  wanderer  over  its  mountains  and  plateaus,  from  the  Texan 
border  to  the  Isthmus,  and  from  one  ocean  to  the  other. — 
New  York  Times. 

He  has  seen  with  his  own  eyes;  he  has  felt  the  witchery 
of  the  place  through  his  own  senses:  he  here  reports  what  he 
has  seen  and  heard  and  felt. — New  York  Herald. 

There  are  passages  in  Mexican  Trails  so  irresistibly 
funny  that  only  the  hopeless  misanthrope  will  be  able  to 
refrain  from  a  hearty  laugh;  and  there  are  other  passages  in 
which  the  author  has  described  scenes  characteristic  or  charm- 
ing with  a  deftness  of  word-painting  and  a  grace  of  diction 
worthy  of  enthusiastic  praise. — Providence  Journal. 

The  author  is  not  only  an  excellent  observer,  but  is  also 
a  poet  in  his  descriptions.     The  book  is  quite  as  entertaining 


as  literature  as  for  the  great  fund  of  information  it  contains. — 
St.  Louis  Post  Despatch. 

He  writes  pleasantly  and  with  a  distinct  gift  for  rendering 
vivid  pictorial  effects  with  a  genuine  touch  of  poetic  feeling 
and  sentiment.  ...  In  brief  Mr.  Kirkham's  book  may 
be  read  with  much  pleasure  and  profit. — Boston  Herald. 

If  one  may  not  go  to  Mexico  himself,  the  next  best  thing 
is  to  sit  down  with  Mr.  Kirkham's  book  and  give  orders  for 
no  disturbance  till  one  has  strolled  to  heart's  content  among 
picturesque  places  whither  the  author  can  so  delightfully 
lead. — Louisville  Courier  Journal. 

A  pleasant  departure  from  the  ordinary  book  of  travels; 
Mexican  Trails  carries  the  reader  into  all  sorts  of  by-paths 
and  out-of-the-way  places. — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

The  pictures  drawn  are  not  snapshots  from  a  car  window. 
They  show  the  sympathetic  touch  of  an  artist.  There  is 
much  of  the  dreamy  style  of  Lafcadio  Hearn. — Chicago  Even- 
ing Post. 

No  traveller  in  Mexico  can  consider  the  preparations  for 
the  trip  quite  complete  unless  they  include  a  reading  of 
Mexican  Trails. — Evening  News,  Newark. 

He  is  a  charming  companion.  He  sees  all  that  is  beauti- 
ful, and  that  he  is  invited  to  look  at,  with  an  artist's  appreci- 
ation.— Hartford  Courant. 

Mr.  Kirkham,  already  an  author  of  experience  in  other 
fields,  now  gives  a  charming  picture  of  Mexico.  He  does  not 
attempt  to  instruct ;  the  book  is  an  impressionistic  painting, 
full  of  the  atmosphere  and  color  of  the  real  Mexico — the 
Mexico  of  the  Indian  trails.  .  .  .  Mr.  Kirkham  has 
traversed  many  miles  of  territory  still  untouched  by  modern 
civilization,  and  his  pictures  of  Indian  life  are  full  of  feeling 
and  pathos,  relieved  by  touches  of  humor.  .  .  .  The 
narrative  is  refreshingly  free  from  statistics  and  chapters  on 
the  financial  resources  of  the  country  and  the  political  situa- 
tion. As  an  artist  is  said  to  catch  the  expression  of  his  model, 
so  Mr.  Kirkham  has  succeeded  in  portraying  the  individuality, 
the  elusive  spirit  of  Mexico. — New  York  Evening  Post. 


The  Philosophy  of  Self-Help 

An  Application  of  Practical  Psychology 
to  Daily  Life 

Unlike  some  books  on  Psychology,  this  keeps  to  the  line 
of  thought  marked  out  for  it  in  the  introduction.  The  author 
quite  surprises  you  by  revealing  yourself  to  yourself  so  clearly. 
.  .  .  Before  you  have  finished  the  book  you  have  lost 
sight  of  all  except  yourself  and  your  kinship  with  your  author. 
.  .  .  And  the  charm  and  fascination  does  not  die  with  the 
last  chapter.  For  again  and  again  you  turn  back  to  this 
chapter  or  that  and  read  it  once  more. — Boston  Transcript. 

"New  Thought"  has  suffered  so  much  from  the  bad 
English  and  philosophic  obtuseness  of  its  exponents  that  one 
is  glad  at  last  to  find  a  book  written  not  only  in  good  English 
but  also  with  a  precision  of  thought,  a  sequence  of  ideas  that 
are  understandable  and  answerable.  Mr.  Kirkham  expounds 
a  practical  philosophy,  a  popular  philosophy.  Let  us  know 
the  truth,  because  it  will  keep  us  well  and  sane. — New  York 
Times. 

Mr.  Kirkham's  work  is  distinguished  by  its  sanity,  its 
vigorous  logic,  and  its  directness  and  clarity  of  thought. — 
Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"  The  Philosophy  of  Self-Help  "  is  the  most  uplifting  and 
helpful  book  of  its  kind  which  we  have  had  this  season. — 
Baltimore  News. 

The  book  will  make  its  appeal  especially  to  such  as  feel 
the  need  of  a  clear  and  concise  practical  presentation  of  a  true 
mental  science. — Louisville  Times. 

The  "sweet  reasonableness  "  and  "sanctified  common- 
sense  "  of  the  author's  view-point,  added  to  his  high  aim, 
abundant  knowledge,  and  admirable  vigor  and  lucidity  of 
style,  should  give  his  book  a  wide  field  of  influence. —  Chicago 
Record-Herald. 

Certainly  any  sincere  seeker  after  aid  in  living  a  happier 
and  more  effective  life  may  find  it  here.  The  simplicity  of  his 
statements  and  the  nature  of  the  ideals  presented  make  direct 
appeal  to  the  inquirer. — Detroit  Free  Press. 


Mr.  Kirkhara  has  succeeded  admirably  in  incorporating 
in  his  book  the  theories  of  the  best  psychologists  and  the 
latest  discoveries  of  the  powers  of  the  mind,  arranging  his 
facts  logically  and  clearly  so  that  they  appear  with  a  new 
force. — Columbus  Journal. 

The  book  occupies  the  middle  ground  between  the  fad- 
dists, who  go  to  all  extremes  in  their  advocacy  of  mental 
culture  to  secure  physical  health,  and  those  who  care  nothing 
for  these  things.  The  doctrine  that  he  teaches  is  mainly  that 
of  self-reliance,  and  that  is  the  most  important  doctrine  that 
can  be  taught  to  the  weaklings  and  faddists  of  our  time. —  The 
Christian  Register. 

Mr.  Kirkham  has  applied  philosophy  to  life  in  a  helpful 
and  delightful  way.  He  has  a  good  philosophy  and  a  good 
view  of  life,  and  they  come  together  most  satisfactorily  in 
this  book,  which  any  one  can  read  and  enjoy. — Journal  of 
Education,  Boston. 

A  work  of  its  soundness  and  simplicity  is  certain  to  find 
its  audience  everywhere  — Chicago  Tribune. 

His  discussion  has  the  merit  of  presenting  practical  truth 
in  a  fashion  that  interests  the  reader  while  it  appeals  to  the 
common-sense.  The  book  is  an  unusually  clear  and  con- 
vincing study  of  an  interesting  subject. — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

Stanton  Davis  Kirkham,  hitherto  known  only  as  an 
apostle  of  the  beautiful,  has  written  a  book  which  should 
place  him  high  among  the  world's  best  philosophers. — San 
Francisco  Chronicle. 

His  doctrine  may  be  too  Spartan  for  the  weakling  and 
the  milksop,  but  it  is  the  kind  that  makes  the  man.  It  is  a 
doctrine  of  self-reliance  as  opposed  to  the  theological  dogma 
of  relying  upon  another  to  save  us  from  the  effects  of  sin,  and 
the  medical  dogma  of  relying  upon  a  prescription  to  free  us 
from  the  effects  of  self-indulgence,  wrong-thinking,  or  defects 
of  character.  There  is  much  common  sense  in  Mr.  Kirkham *s 
theories  and  he  has  written  a  healthy  and  helpful  book, — 
Edinburgh  Scotsman. 

Scientific,  though  free  from  technicalities. — Springfield 
Republican. 


The  Ministry  of  Beauty 

Treated  in  a  bold  and  confident  way,  yet  with  clearness 
of  vision  and  vigor  of  expression. 

His  essays  are  notable  for  a  fearless  optimism  that  is  not 
only  stimulating  but  convincing. — Boston  Transcript. 

It  is  a  book  that  will  give  health  and  comfort  to  many 
people. — Boston  Times. 

Mr.  Kirkham  has  stated  old  truths  in  a  singularly  attrac- 
tive and  winsome  form,  and  it  would  be  hard  to  speak  too 
much  in  praise  of  his  gentle  insistence  on  the  pursuit  of  the 
beautiful  as  the  royal  road  to  individual  evolution  and  the 
peace  that  it  brings. — San  Francisco  Argonaut. 

An  exceedingly  helpful  volume. — Boston  Globe. 

The  author  writes  very  well;  he  has  evidently  thought 
and  read  seriously.  He  reveals  a  sincere  sympathy  for  the 
ideals  he  prescribes  for  others  and  an  ardent  response  to  the 
loveliness  of  nature  which  he  maintains  will  lead  to  the  higher 
beauty  of  the  things  of  the  spirit. — Louisville  Courier 
Journal. 

The  author  says  many  true  and  inspiring  things  and  says 
them  with  a  brilliancy  that  reminds  one  strongly  of  Emerson. 
— Chicago  Record-Herald. 

Some  people  are  going  to  get  a  deal  of  enjoyment  out  of 
this  book  :  others  there  be  who  will  look  and  wonder  why  it 
was  ever  written.  Those  who  dip  into  it  and  get  the  habit 
will  find  it  possessing  the  power  to  hold. — Denver  Republican. 

The  literature  of  reflection  has  an  addition  of  considera- 
ble merit  in  the  "  Ministry  of  Beauty." — Rochester  Herald. 

It  is  a  book  that  you  can  carelessly  place  on  your  parlor 
table  with  the  comforting  conviction  that  any  one  turning  its 
pages  will  find  it  serviceable,  and  sure  to  teach  good  to  our 
kind. — Portland  Oregonian. 


*&' 


The  style  is  brilliant  as  well  as  poetical,  and  has  the  touch 
of  delicate  humor  which  so  refreshingly  removes  all  sense  of 
morbidity  when  one  is  thinking  seriously  and  feeling  deeply. 
— Portland  Press. 


Where  Dwells  the  Soul  Serene 

The  book  is  full  of  quotable  passages  and  it  is  worth 
careful  reading  by  those  who  look  on  life  as  something  better 
than  the  pursuit  of  money  or  pleasure.  —  San  Francisco 
Chronicle. 

The  volume  is  full  of  hope  and  strength  for  those  who 
accept  its  teachings.  It  ought  to  carry  inspiration  to  many 
world-weary  people. —  Toledo  Blade. 

Very  much  of  inspiration  is  to  be  gotten  from  pages  like 
these.  The  author  has  evidently  read  widely,  pondered 
deeply,  and  that  he  is  able  to  think  somewhat  originally  and 
write  exceedingly  well  his  readers  will  readily  grant. — Boston 
Budget. 

The  style  in  which  this  unpretending  book  is  written  has 
a  touch  of  Emerson  about  it — sometimes  a  glimpse  of  Ruskin. 
— Minneapolis  Times. 

His  thoughts  issue  from  him  with  much  imaginative 
freshness  and  frequent  strength.  Add  to  this  a  considerable 
gift  of  simplicity  and  management  of  language,  and  it  is  not 
too  much  to  say  that  written  sixty  years  earlier  this  work 
might  have  made  its  author  renowned. — Baltimore  Sun. 

The  book  is  written  with  all  the  winning  persuasion  of 
knowledge;  and  its  perusal  is  a  charm  and  an  inspiration. — 
San  Francisco  Argonaut. 

The  world  will  certainly  be  better  for  the  uplifting,  cour- 
ageous prose-songs  of  this  master  optimist. — Over  land  Monthly. 

It  is  pleasantly  written,  abounds  in  evidences'of  intelligent 
travel  and  of  earnest  reflection,  and  is  rich  in  human  sym- 
pathy.— Pacific  Unitarian. 

Says  many  wise  and  true  things  in  a  lucid  style. — Hartford 
Courant. 

A  thoughtful,  useful  volume. — Boston  Times. 

A  book  that  gladdens  the  heart  with  its  wealth  of  good 
tidings — tidings  that  tell  how  glorious  is  the  universe,  how 
grand  a  destiny  has  man,  how  really  is  his  consciousness  be- 
ginning to  ripen  so  that  the  goodness  of  it  all  entirely  banishes 
the  host  of  small  evils  that  have  seemed  so  pervasive  and  so 
real  for  so  long.  And  these  tidings  are  told  in  a  way  that  re- 
veals the  philosopher,  the  poet  whose  nature  has  opened  to 
Nature's  God  and  to  whom  experience  has  been  a  rare  mel- 
lower of  faculty  and  sharpener  of  sense. — Boston  Ideas. 


In  the  Open 

Intimate  Studies  and  Appreciations 
of  Nature 

A  nature  book  of  such  unusual  literary  charm  that  it 
deserves  to  be  ranked  well  above  most  of  the  more  homely 
out-of-door  studies  of  recent  years. — New  York  Times. 

Mr.  Kirkham  evidently  knows  his  ornithology,  and  with 
no  uncertain  pen  writes  of  birds  with  the  sympathy  of  a  poet 
and  a  bird-lover. — Frank  Chapman  in  Bird  Lore. 

No  other  American  naturalist,  unless  it  be  Thoreau,  has 
ever  quite  surpassed  this  writer  in  sensitive  register  of  nature's 
myriad  moods. — Chicago  Illustrated  Review. 

He  loves  nature  as  much  as  Thoreau,  and  he  studies  her 
ways  as  closely  as  W.  H.  Gibson  did.  The  essays  are  delight- 
ful.— Buffalo  Express. 

Through  intimate  companionship  he  reaches  a  power  of 
delicate  characterization  unique  even  among  trained  nature- 
lovers.  His  readers  will  often  pay  him  the  subtle  compli- 
ment of  exclaiming,  "  That  is  just  what  I  have  thought." — 
The  Dial. 

To  read  these  essays  is  to  wish  yourself  in  the  open. — 
New  York  Herald. 

This  is  not  only  a  very  beautiful  book,  but  one  of  fasci- 
nating interest  as  well. — Rochester  Herald. 

He  will  care  for  In  The  Open  to  whose  ears  the  cry  of 
the  wild  goose  is  no  alien  sound. — Baltimore  News. 

Few  more  attractive  books  of  nature  observations  have 
appeared. — Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 

Interesting  not  only  from  its  contents  but  as  a  fine 
example  of  the  printer's  art. — Springfield  Republican. 

In  The  Open  is  a  continuous  delight.  To  the  reader  who 
has  lived  in  the  country  it  is  a  revelation.  It  makes  him  see 
things  in  a  new  way, — San  Francisco  Examiner. 

He  is  a  very  shrewd  observer  of  animals  and  birds  and  he 
has  the  literary  faculty  in  high  degree,  so  that  he  is  able  to 
make  the  reader  feel  the  charm  of  the  pictures  of  mountain 
and  forest  and  sea  that  he  presents. — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

He  knows  bird  ways  and  bee  ways,  the  democratic  code 
of  the  ant,  poetry  of  weeds,  the  philosophy  of  stones  and  the 
song  of  laughing  waters.  All  seasons  are  known  to  him  and 
all  latitudes,  as  well  as  a  style  Emersonian  in  its  elusive 
cadences.  In  The  Open  is  a  rare  book. — Pittsburg  Gatette- 
Times. 


^ 


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